


And Some of What He Knew Might Be the Death of Him

by ImolaOrange



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Book(s), Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-04-19 13:03:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 31,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4747460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImolaOrange/pseuds/ImolaOrange
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The following story details two harrowing days and nights, during which the residents of Starecross Hall face a ruthless fiend bent on exacting a most hellish revenge upon a wounded Childermass. It is up to Mr. Segundus to gather his courage, marshal his wit, and hope that he can outsmart a faerie – all for the sake of one man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Two from the Night

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place a little more than a year after the end of the book/show. Childermass and Vinculus are traveling the countryside spreading the word about the revival of English magic. Childermass is also making longer and more frequent forays into Faerie, which, it turns out can be rather dangerous if you run into the wrong resident...

It was a night for devils capering in the rain and banshees howling through the trees. Indeed it seemed to John Segundus that one such abomination had lodged itself within the chimney of the main hearth at Starecross Hall. Though the racket winding down that stony passage certainly had the prickling sound of the supernatural, full of dark whispers and promises of vengeance yet untaken, this was certainly not what had him setting aside a fine cup of tea, sweet with sugar and just a touch of cream. Nor was it what had him turning away from a small plate of his favorite sugared cakes baked just this afternoon by Mrs. Honeyfoot. To be sure, such delicacies were more suited to an afternoon of polite ritual, yet here in Yorkshire, on the edge of a small and unremarkable village the residents of Starecross Hall had taken to their own whims, and found it much to their liking. 

Peering down a passage, Segundus saw the warm glow of fire and lamplight. Mr. And Mrs. Honeyfoot had retired to a small and comfortable parlor for an evening of cards, books and debate. The pair had done their best to lure Mr. Segundus from the cavernous hall and high-backed chairs set before the hearth. For on a night such as this, Mr. Honeyfoot had rightly remarked that a creature needed a cozy sort of den with friendly walls close by, a large crackling fire on the grate, and a vast array of comforts near at hand. Though for all their cajoling and promises of hearty company, Segundus declined. Insisting that while he could find no fault with their logic, tonight there would be no hope in settling himself and they would only find him a nuisance.

Brushing aside a bothersome lock of hair incessantly tangling in his lashes, Segundus ignored the wailing in the hearth and returned to his book, a lively adventure that told of the travels of a knight of dark and brooding countenance. Alone upon the road, the knight faced more danger than a pick-pocketing urchin on the streets of London, which was to say, he encountered a great deal of adversity. Segundus found the book much to his liking; such fearsome adventures were a thrill, yet best kept as fireside fancies which were infinitely more comfortable than the real thing. Though steadfast and noble in his own right, Segundus preferred the quiet life of a country magician to that of a traveling paladin ever on the lookout for danger waiting down the next road.

Returning to the tale, he soon found that the words jumped and skittered on the pages instead of settling themselves in proper order, as they should. Irritated, he raised a hand to rub at his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Perhaps a sugar cake would make things better; it certainly could make them no worse. He reached over, picked up a cake and took a moment to savor the rich scent of butter, of which Mrs. Honeyfoot was quite fond, as her rounded cheeks and plump figure could attest. It was a sad thing for poor Mr. Segundus, for the cake, so tempting and rich was flat upon the tongue and he returned it to the plate half-eaten. Bad manners to be certain, but tonight he was in such a state he was sure he could be forgiven. 

What had John Segundus casting aside a perfectly good book and pleasant lively company was that something, simply, was not right. It was more than the rain and the wind. More than the sharp crack of debris striking the slate roof of the sprawling hall, more than the rattling of panes behind shuttered windows. It was something in the very air itself, and though there were no words to it, it spoke a language all the same. A great gust wrapped about the house, seeming to buffet the structure down to its very foundations. Outside there was the snap of a limb giving way followed by the thud and tremors of wood hitting earth. Segundus rose from his chair, the book slid forgotten from his lap to land in a tumbled sprawl upon the carpet at his feet. In a peculiar move he raised his nose to the air like a hound searching for a scent. Another gust great as the last scoured the countryside. Only now during the height of the tempest did he understand what he sensed. 

Magic. 

It was subtle in the air but growing stronger, nearer. He pulled in a deeper breath, licked his lips. Felt the barest touch of it upon his skin. It was here, blown in with the storm, or perhaps the source of the tempest itself. 

John Segundus did not start, nor did he feel any fear when the slam of the wind against the house became the heavy insistent knock of someone at the door of Starecross Hall. The sound abated a moment, only to pick up again with even more insistence. Behind him he heard the footsteps and inquiry of Mr. Honeyfoot and the joining warble of Mrs. Honeyfoot. Segundus paid them no mind but started toward the entry with a sense of purpose and anticipation. When he was but a few strides from the great oak door the air was fairly awash with magic. A ridiculous notion stole his thoughts, if this magic was a color he could see, it would be the most brilliant blue; a cobalt deep and rich enough to rival the colors in the finest paintings in the King’s own London palace. 

The pounding upon the door grew more insistent. The voice on the other side was rising to create a racket strong enough to overcome the fury of the storm. The brass of the handle and latch sparked at his touch and Segundus reeled, caught up in a wave of dizziness that had him staggering into the wall. He fumbled with the lock and latch, suddenly aware of the solid presence of Mr. Honeyfoot at his back when the latter’s worried voice broke the spell.

“Who do you think it could it be on a night like this, and at such an ungodly hour?”

Segundus did not answer, for he was both hopeful and fearful. Those two feelings warring about in his stomach like a pair of cats fighting upon a wall. Gathering himself, he opened the door and let out an alarmed shout. Before him stood a creature conjured from the storm itself. A wide grinning mouth full of crooked and yellowing teeth shewed through an unkempt tangle of beard. Its eyes were narrowed slits peering at the pair of gentlemen at the door from beneath an impossible nest of long and straggling hair capped by a disaster of a hat. The being’s ragged and patched coat, a size to small, flapped and jumped in the wind with a mind all its own. The creature spoke with an insolent voice, one short step from the cliff of insanity. 

“By the King’s misshapen balls your hospitality is lacking. I’ve caught my death of a chill.” The mouth curled downward in a pout. 

“Vinculus”

His heart beating far too fast, Segundus peered past the hunched shoulder. There in the lane beyond the wall and the hedge was a beast, huge and dark, unhandsome in silhouette with a still figure draped across its neck. 

“Childermass”

Vinculus coughed and spat into the wind.

“Aye, and stuck like a beast in more places than can be counted and it’s put him in a mood, that it has.” 

The frowning pout returned and he pushed past Segundus and into the shelter of the doorway. There he proceeded to shake himself like a dog, sending a spray of water and mud in every direction at once.

“Here now you filthy rascal. Stop that this instant.” 

Mr. Honeyfoot was none too pleased to find his favorite housecoat now spattered and damp. Behind him, Segundus heard a thud followed by a fair round of cursing. Ignoring the quarrelsome pair, Mr. Segundus seized the porch lantern and stepped into the lashing downpour. 

“Childermass!”

Things must surely be dire, for the figure upon the horse had not moved one whit in any moment past or present. Reaching Brewer, Segundus saw the man was slumped far over in the saddle; how he still held his seat in the violence of the rain and wind was a testament to his strength and will. His battered hat was lost, his ragged hair torn free from its queue. Dark strands hung heavy across closed eyes and upon the pale skin of his neck. The lids shifted just a bit and Segundus saw movement beneath black lashes. Childermass did not raise his head; instead his cheek remained pressed to the stallion’s wet neck. His face was deathly pale. By the light of the lantern Segundus could see stains of blood upon the stallion’s shoulder. A puff of warm breath and a smoky voice heavy with pain slid through the rain to reach his ears.

“Good evening John Segundus.”

Of all the things that might have passed the lips of Childermass at this time, Segundus was not prepared for such rasping civility. It was quite a shock, and of the two, he thought that he should at least be the practical one.

“You are wounded, sir.”

At this, Childermass managed the smallest of smiles; a pointed and polite way to say that on this night Segundus had a rare talent for stating the obvious. Segundus flushed and murmured an apology stolen away in the rain. Then turning to Vinculus and Honeyfoot his voice cut through the tempest.

“Hurry, we must bring him inside.”

Segundus gave over the lantern to Mr. Honeyfoot and reached to pull Childermass from Brewer’s back. Childermass gave a short, sharp cry when a hand closed upon his forearm. Suddenly it was as if the strings of a tangled puppet were cut, and for a man at the end of his strength, it was all too much. He slid in a boneless heap from the saddle and would have fallen in the mud if Mr. Segundus hadn’t given forth with his own cry and leapt forward to catch him. Vinculus materialized at his side. For a moment, the two men nearly buckled beneath the full weight of the unconscious John Childermass. The man, though lean and lithe was comprised of little more than solid muscle and bone from his many hours spent in the saddle. Brewer, a clever steed, was at times wont to test his master’s mettle as Childermass’ strong arms and shoulders could attest. Tonight was not a night for such a game and the horse stood with all the patience of an aged dray, only giving the occasional huff and twitch when the scent of his master’s blood slid through the storm. 

Mr. Honeyfoot hurried ahead with the lantern while Segundus and Vinculus made painfully slow progress, half carrying, half dragging Childermass between them. Framed in the light of the door, Segundus could see the worried faces of Mrs. Honeyfoot, Agatha the housekeeper, and Jacob the cook.

Segundus heard a low moan as Childermass broke the surface of consciousness. His head lolled, a not unwelcome weight upon Segundus’ shoulder. So close was he now that John Childermass smelled of nothing more than blood and damp. Quite unlike the scent of pipe tobacco and forest loam he usually left in his wake. It was all very disturbing, so much so that Segundus could hardly believe it real.

“Please sir, tell me how he has come to this state.” 

At first, Vinculus did not seem inclined to speak of it, until finally. 

“He has been traveling for days upon the King’s Roads, each time longer than the last. Eleven days gone until sunset this day when he returned, galloping down the road like all of hell was on his heels. Grabbed me as if I was naught more than a rotting sack of cabbages and we did not stop until we reached your threshold.”

Despite the circumstances, Mr. Segundus could keep neither the wonder nor excitement from his voice. “What is he doing upon the roads? What has he found?”

Vinculus gave a thoughtless twitch of a shrug. Childermass groaned a curse and his head pressed harder into Segundus’ shoulder. Though it hardly seemed he could catch a breath through his pain, the deep growl of his voice gave both men a start.

“I have found Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell.”


	2. The nature of the man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surprised by the visitors from the storm, the residents of Starecross tend to the injured Childermass. A lot of hurt, a little humor, a little angst, some surprising feelings reveal themselves. Though of common birth, the nobility of Childermass' stoic nature is revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry Childermass...

Once across the threshold the men paused in indecision, straining beneath their burden. It was at this time that Mrs. Honeyfoot stepped forward. 

“We shall put him in Lady Pole’s room. It will be warm and comfortable. Jacob, you must light a fire, quickly now. When you have finished, please see to Mr. Childermass’ horse. The poor beast must not be forgotten.” 

“Aye ma’am, of course.”

The cook hurried into the room to prepare the fire.

“Agatha, we will need a great deal of hot water and cloth boiled for bandaging. Once Jacob returns from the stables you will pass your duties to him and attend me at Mr. Childermass’ bedside. Mr. Honeyfoot, you will aid Jacob in the kitchen as soon we have Mr. Childermass settled and at ease.”

“Of course my dear.”

Georgette Honeyfoot’s father had been a fine physician and an indulgent man when it came to the education of females in his household, simply because he could not abide useless people. From an early age she had been allowed to attend at his side, and as her education and skills progressed, quite often she was allowed to assist with many of his more difficult and interesting cases.

He also had a few peculiar and progressive ideas regarding chirgury and medicines, and would often remark that English medicine had not progressed near far enough since the Dark Ages. Indeed, he considered the education of many of his peers to be quite ineffectual at best and outright dangerous at worst. They in turn, condemned his odd methods at every available opportunity. This might have been his ruin were he a meek sort of fellow, which he was not, and it wouldn’t have made much matter if he was. For his grateful patients came from far and wide seeking cures to their ailments and aches, proclaiming him a miracle-worker up and down the English countryside.

Segundus legs were afire from the effort and it took all his remaining strength to safely see Childermass through the door to the bed. Yet once there, defying all common sense the man refused to recline, but instead tightened his arm about Vinculus’ neck. 

“Set the wards.”

“They have no quarrel with me. It is you John Childermass who has stirred this nest of hornets,” was Vinculus’s cheeky reply.

“You will do as I say, now.” Childermass twisted his fist in the tattered jacket pulling the smaller man close. Segundus was not entirely certain of what to make of this exchange. When Vinculus turned to regard him, an unaccountable odor assailed Segundus nostrils. The man smelled worse than a dog living on the streets of London.

“I could fancy a pint, or three, for fortification.” He looked expectantly at Segundus.

“You shall have nothing tonight sir but good strong tea to drive off the chill and soothe your nerves,” was Segundus indignant reply.

Vinculus rubbed absently at his ass. “Beggin’ your pardon, but after that ride it ain’t my nerves need soothin’.”

Childermass’ snarl silenced him. “The wards you fool. You will go outside and set them.”

Vinculus pulled away and raised his hands in supplication. Cast an enigmatic glance at Childermass before he turned on his heel and sauntered from the room. Childermass narrowed his dark eyes at the retreating form; his breath coming in short pained gasps. It was only but a moment after Vinculus left the room that his strength gave out and he fainted dead away in Segundus arms. Despite Segundus’ panic, Mrs. Honeyfoot did not seem overly troubled once she took the measure of her patient’s pulse and pressed her ear to his chest listening to his breath.

“It is for the best, poor soul. Now then Mr. Segundus, I hope the sight of blood does not upset you sir.”

“No Madam.” Segundus lied. 

 

Honeyfoot and Segundus peeled Childermass out of the great dark coat. Segundus taking care to fold the coat properly before placing it to the side of the hearth, safe from trampling feet. Somehow it seemed unkind to drop the bloodied and faithful garment in a heap upon the floor. The coat seemed as much a part of the man as his ragged hair and insolence.

It was during this task that Segundus felt of a sudden, a peculiar spark of energy travel from the soles of his feet to the top of his head in the matter of a heartbeat. He knew in that instant that Vinculus had worked some form of powerful magic. Hurrying to the window, he peered outside. He could just make out the figure of the man standing at the gate leading from Starecross to the road. The sight was as odd as what he had felt a moment ago. The man’s arms were waving wildly about, and if Segundus did not know better, he would guess him to be dancing some sort of drunken jig. Not for the last time this evening would Mr. Segundus wonder about the nature of the creature, or creatures that Childermass had crossed.

Childermass! Segundus berated himself, mooning about at the window while a man was in dire need of his aid!

Mr. Honeyfoot had begun the work of removing Childermass from his jacket. Rolling him gently this way and that until the man was free before he left off to aid Agatha, who was having some trouble removing Childermass’ boots. Segundus busied himself with the vest, his trembling hands working at the buttons until finally the fabric parted to reveal the shirt beneath. Mr. Segundus heart sank. There was quite simply, too much blood. He heard Mrs. Honeyfoot cluck her tongue and sigh. 

“Take heart Mr. Segundus. We shall not know the sum of it until we have tallied the full measure.”

“His shirt madam, what shall we do? It is a ruin, and I fear it will hurt him terribly should I try to remove it.” 

She patted Segundus’ arm. “Not to worry sir, there is a swift way around that.”

She produced a pair of shears, and with a practical air made three quick cuts, one up the front of the garment and next along the sleeves to the neck.

“We shall soak the cloth free and see what we shall see.”

It took some time, far too much time in the opinion of John Segundus, for the water to heat, and proper herbs and powders to be mixed and added and then boiled anew. During such time, Segundus busied himself drying Childermass’ face and neck with some rough towels taken from the kitchen. He did what he could for the tangled mass of hair. Using the cloth to smooth the wet strands from the man’s brow and dry what he could before it dampened the pillow beyond comfort.

Of a sudden, the dark eyes opened and Childermass’ hand closed about Segundus’ wrist with frightful strength.

“The wards? Has that fool seen to them?”

Segundus thought it odd that Childermass could not perceive the magic when he was known to be sensitive to its presence. However, seeing the state of the man, it was no wonder he could not sense the gentle hum. 

“It is done sir; I can feel the thrum of it in my bones. I should say we are quite safe... If I may, who is it that has done you such harm?”

The quirk of a brow shewed that despite the pain and circumstance, that insolence could not be cowed. “Not so much of a “whom,” sir, but a “what,” playing at the guise of a man… I do not know if it will come this far, but the house must be on its guard for I am useless at the moment.”

There was anger behind that statement, his voice rougher than usual. Upon the end of this, Childermass exhausted what strength and breath he possessed and sank once again into unconsciousness. Which was just as well, for Mrs. Honeyfoot returned with a steaming basin from which she pulled folded pads of cloth she then placed one after another upon each wound. The steam rising from the bowl smelled of clean herbs and health, for the moment chasing away the heavy copper scent of blood.

“We shall give it a bit of time, and now to finish our business.”

Cutting deftly around the cloth placed over the slash in Childermass’ thigh Mrs. Honeyfoot made short work of stripping the breeches while Agatha disposed of wet and bloodied stockings. In a manner of moments the ladies and gentlemen present got an eyeful of John Childermass’ full allure, for the man wore no undergarments beneath his breeches.

Mrs. Honeyfoot merely quirked a brow and flipped a corner of the sheet across Childermass’ waist as she remarked. “I suppose when a man is living on the road, practical allowances must be made.” 

Mr. Segundus recovered nicely with an agreeable “Indeed madam, life upon the road involves sacrifice of many common niceties.”

“An uncomfortable business,” agreed Mr. Honeyfoot.

Agatha said not a word. 

Mrs. Honeyfoot returned to her patient and with great care began to peel away the bloodied shirt.

“This is not so much.” She exclaimed, revealing a long shallow slash across Childermass’ chest. “I shall not even need to close it. A gentle cleaning, some medicine and bandaging will do quite well.” 

Mr. Segundus felt his head spin at the sight of it. 

Her light air quickly became one of seriousness when she bared the injury on Childermass’ right side. “A cruel strike, most definitely the work of a blade… But a breadth this way or that,” her finger pointed here and there, “and he would have been done in with a hole in his heart, or lung.”

A small strangled noise erupted when Segundus choked back the bile rising in his throat.

“Indeed Mr. Segundus, it is bad business.” Mrs. Honeyfoot reached calmly to the bedside table. Poured a splash of sherry into the tiny thimble cup she fancied and took a very thoughtful sip. 

 

They labored on, with Childermass waking on occasion with a curse or groan. He refused the laudanum for the longest time until finally; Mrs. Honeyfoot had had quite enough of his stubbornness.

“Sir! You will take the medicine offered; for I can no longer abide the pain you endure when its cure is so close at hand. There is no shame in wishing to ease your suffering.”

Still Childermass refused.

“Madam, you mistake my intention for hardheadedness.” Here he was forced to pause for breath for quite some time before continuing. “I have knowingly and selfishly brought danger to this house. I must remain vigilant. I cannot protect the lot of you…if I do not have my wits about me.” 

Mrs. Honeyfoot did not know what to make of that. “Sir, you cannot even stand.”

Segundus stepped forward. “Childermass, Vinculus has done as you asked. Indeed sir, he remains outside in the storm, working his spells one upon the other. You would know this were you not in such distress. I am sensitive to such things and I assure you sir, the wards are strong. We are safe. There is much to do before we can leave you in peace. You must take the medicine. You must have your rest!”

Segundus took the dose from Mrs. Honeyfoot. His hand slipped beneath Childermass' head.

“Come now, it must be the loss of blood that has made you fussy as Gilbert Norrell.” Segundus smiled sweetly. Childermass’ eyes flashed. A breath later he seized Mr. Segundus hand holding the spoon and swallowed back the bitter dose in one rough movement. The action was followed shortly by a low growled threat. “You will pay for that, sir.”

It did not take much time at all for the draught to have its effect, though the man fought it far longer than either Segundus or Mrs. Honeyfoot thought possible. Until finally, his eyes blinked once, twice, and did not open again.

Early in the evening Mr. Honeyfoot had brought in a brown satchel of fine thick leather, inside of which Mrs. Honeyfoot keep her implements. Reaching inside the bag yet again she produced a wooden box the size of her palm. In a peculiar move, she tipped the box over a small glass of alcohol, sprinkling in several glittering little pieces of what looked to be silver. Settling herself in a chair close to the bed and picking up a small pair of tongs she selected a piece from the glass. Working at the wound on Childermass’ side, Segundus saw her dig the piece in along the edge of the gash, pull the flesh together and set the other end of the link into his skin. 

Childermass stirred when the next link was set, pulling still more flesh together.

“Hush now, we will soon be done with our business and you may rest.” Mrs. Honeyfoot placed a kindly hand upon Childermass’ shoulder.

“Mr. Segundus, if you will be so kind as to steady him. This shall not take long but it does cause some discomfort.”

When Segundus did not answer she looked to see what was the matter.

“Why Mr. Segundis! Sir, you are paler than my patient. I know this seems a cruelty but I assure you it is a great kindness, much improved over a needle and thread. Silver, as you must know from your magical studies is a pure and noble medal; its medicinal qualities are famed. My father employed this technique quite often upon serious wounds with results far more satisfactory than those of a needle.”

“I – it is remarkable madam, yet I confess, a bit disturbing.”

Segundus set his hands upon Childermass’ shoulders, feeling the twitch and jump of muscle beneath the warm flesh. 

While she was speaking, Mrs. Honeyfoot had deftly set in three of the small links upon the gash, sealing the flesh together with swift precision and the entire operation was over but a few moments past that. The rapid rise and fall of Childermass’ chest slowed and the tightness stiffening his features eased an instant later.

“There now, you see, quick and kind. Now Agatha, rinse the injury liberally with this tincture and follow with a good layer of salve.”

“Of course my Lady.”

Segundus left off his grip upon the man’s shoulders, rinsed a cloth in the basin and began to wipe the sweat from Childermass’ brow and stubbled throat before they began anew on the gash in his thigh. To Segundus, the sight of the glittering pieces of metal embedded in Childermass’ flesh in neat little rows was alien and disturbing, and he could not be sure that such an image wouldn’t find its way into his dreams.

When it was thankfully finished, Mrs. Honeyfoot and Agatha busied themselves with mixing tinctures and preparing salves. Standing a ways back from the bed as not to interfere Segundus could remain neither quiet or still for long.

“Surely madam, there must be something more I can do to help.”

Mrs. Honeyfoot looked up from the table where she was working.

“If you would Mr. Segundus, all this blood needs washing away. It would be a great kindness. I like my patient to be clean and comfortable. You may start with that mess upon his leg so that Agatha may bind his thigh.” 

Restored to a sense of purpose, Mr. Segundus went to the hearth to fetch hot water and poured it into a basin set upon a chair near the bed. Segundus rinsed the cloth, taking perhaps more time than was needed. Childermass lay still, one sharp hipbone peeking above the scrap of blanket draped across his waist. John Childermass was not the handsomest of men, but with all his cleverness, insolence, and mystery, he did not need to be. Segundus slid a sideways glance at Agatha. The housekeeper now worked diligently to bind a gash on Childermass’ forearm as Mrs. Honeyfoot had directed. She tightened, folded, tucked and pinned the cloth with clever and sure fingers. The ladies seemed not the least bit bothered by John Childermass’ near nakedness. They went about their ministrations with gentleness, efficiency, and focus. He must do the same, though inside a sudden tempest raged fierce enough to rival the one currently shaking Starecross down to its foundations.

Segundus took what he hoped was a quiet breath and stepped forward. Oh, how he wished at present to confine himself to the far end of the bed and two strong and well-formed feet. Instead, he found himself staring down at a muscled thigh streaked with blood and covered all over with fine and sparse dark hair. He swiped the cloth tentatively and succeeded in doing little more than smearing blood about. Rinsing the cloth again, he returned to the task with a bit more force and soon found a rhythm to his work. Swipe. Swipe. Swipe. Rinse. His efforts and efficiency were rewarded, moving him swiftly from thigh, to knee, to calf and feet. 

While he wished to complete his task with kindness and thoroughness, he needed it to end swiftly in short order, most especially considering the arising circumstance. 

Emptying the bloody water into the bucket beside the bed, he refilled the basin, and with a sigh began to wash the blood from Childermass’ shoulder. A swipe of the cloth, and clean flesh bearing a raised ridge of scar tissue was revealed. Segundus blinked and paused. Seeing the scar caused by Lady Pole’s bullet, he was reminded that Childermass was a man of action; placing himself between harm and those he felt worthy of his loyalty. His refusal of the laudanum this night was neither foolishness, nor pride, but a measure of his care for those within Starecross Hall. It was with these thoughts in mind that Segundus finished the work of bathing away the last of the blood from Childermass’ torso, his hand deft and sure as he moved across the lean muscled planes of Childermass’ chest and belly, and finally along the curve of the man’s ribs. 

When he was finished, he stepped away to empty the bloodied basin water into the bucket. When he turned back around, he was quite unprepared to get an eyeful of the sculpted contours of John Childermass’ ass. For a moment, he was certain the sight of it might be his undoing; the way each perfectly molded cheek flowed downward into a strong thigh, or moved upward, the muscles changing and leading a wonderful line clear to strong shoulders. In that moment, Segundus wanted nothing more than to trace a path of soft and gentle kisses up the long exposed line of John Childermass’ spine. Each tender brush of his lips stealing away a bit of pain, restoring a piece of strength, until he reached that sensitive spot hidden beneath a curtain of ragged hair. Then, at this place where shoulder met neck, he would bestow the very kindest of bites followed by the soothing slide of his tongue upon stinging flesh. Childermass would stir, and finding his pain eased, murmur his gratitude in a low rasp heavy with sleep. 

“Mr. Segundus! Mr. Segundus! The sheet if you please!”

Segundus came back to himself with a start. Dashing from one end of the bed to the next, he tugged the sheet almost violently into place. Agatha breathed a sigh of relief as she gently rolled Childermass onto his back. It took everything in Mr. Segundus’ power to keep his eyes from stealing a second unseemly glance at Childermass’ very pleasing cock. As for his own, after his indulgent daydream, the blasted thing was straining quite inappropriately against the front of his breeches. Segundus picked up the old bloodied blanket and draped it strategically over his arm, which he held before his crotch.

“I’m awfully sorry for the yelling, sir. I meant no disrespect. It's just that he’s rather heavy.” Whispered Agatha, while she checked each bandage one last time before whisking the blankets across Childermass’ nude form. 

Segundus found his voice. “Think nothing of it.” Then, no matter that she was the help; an explanation into his behavior seemed prudent. “Please, accept my apology. For a moment, I thought I felt something askance with Mr. Vinculus’ ward.”

Her eyes widened with worry. “Has someone come for Mr. Childermass? What must we do?”

“No, no! It is all right. It was but a mistake of mine brought on by fatigue. All is as it should be. Mr. Childermass is quite safe.”

Indeed, all was nearly as it should be. Segundus felt his prick, the traitorous appendage, slowly returning to its rightful state.

It was well into the witching hour when Mrs. Honeyfoot wiped her brow - painted with a streak of John Childermass’ blood - and declared that all that could be done had been, and the patient and his caretakers must take what rest they could. Childermass lay between clean sheets with fine warm blankets tucked about his shoulders. His wounds tended and bound, his veins thrumming with laudanum. 

Poor Agatha was nearly asleep on her feet. Jacob and Mr. Honeyfoot slouched in the doorway, exhausted from the chore of filling and heating and carrying bucketful upon bucketful of water between the kitchen and Lady Pole’s room. Vinculus sat upon the best and softest chair set before the room hearth, chewing quite noisily through an apple. John Segundus was as exhausted as the lot of them, but it was laughable to think that sleep would visit him on this night, while outside, the storm battered at the strong walls of Starecross. Segundus felt certain this was no common autumn tempest, but one conjured for a purpose, that its creator wanted nothing more than to make John Childermass suffer. Segundus turned his gaze to the man upon the bed and decided he would do all that he could to thwart such evil intent. 

“I will keep watch over him madam. You have done so much this night. I do not believe he could find better care in all of England.” 

Despite her fatigue, she swelled with pride upon hearing those kind and true words. And after one final round of instruction, Mr. Honeyfoot escorted his wife to bed, leaving Segundus to tend to Childermass. Segundus fussed with the blankets, settling them just so about Childermass’ shoulders. Despite the strong dose of laudanum prescribed by Mrs. Honeyfoot, Segundus noted worriedly that the man’s face remained pale and strained. He told himself that such a thing was to be expected; Childermass had ridden for hours at speed to reach the safety of Starecross, a fact that caused John Segundus no small amount of pride, for a moment. A moment later, the voice in his head reminded him that Childermass was a creature of practicality, and the likely truth behind his decision to return to Starecross lay in his knowledge of Mrs. Honeyfoot’s prowess as a physician. Realizing the dire nature of his wounds, he had measured his remaining strength against the journey, tallied his odds, and ridden like a madman. Segundus scowled. He himself had not known of this skill possessed by Mrs. Honeyfoot until this very night. How like Childermass, why he probably knew the deepest secrets of every creature beneath this roof! That thought made John Segundus very nervous. Hastily he finished wiping the sweat from Childermass’ brow, dropped the cloth in the basin and retreated to the fireside.

Vinculus it seemed was not inclined to place himself elsewhere and remained before the hearth, crunching through the last of his apple. Segundus sat for a time watching the flames consume a thick log of oak; thinking upon all that had come to pass this night. At length he could stay silent no longer; for one thing more than any other aroused his curiosity.

“Childermass says that he has found them, found Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell. In Faerie? How far he must have traveled to achieve such a thing! Do you think it is true, that he has really done this?”

Vinculus shrugged and tossed the applecore into the fire. Then he stretched his filthy stocking-clad feet toward the grate and gave a long sigh; wriggled his toes to and fro while steam slowly began to rise from the drying wool. For a moment his face softened when he turned back to regard the still figure upon the bed.

“I cannot say for certain John Segundus, for as you know, all magicians lie, but that one less than most.”


	3. Well enough, all things considered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morning finds the residents of Starecross tired but hopeful. The feeling of relief is short-lived, however, when events transpire to put them on their guard. A glimpse to the north reveals a mysterious figure upon the lane leading to Starecross.

Mr. Segundus came to himself slowly with stiffness in his back and an ache in his legs. He was slumped over the side of his chair with his head pillowed upon arms teetering at the edge of the bed. It was awkward and contorted, and the chair, which had seemed rather comfortable but a few hours past, now felt like the Devil’s own throne. Through a curtain of hair he saw Childermass’ head resting near his own. Segundus went quite still, waiting for a pair of dark eyes to slide open and a cutting remark to be his reward for a night spent wrung with worry. Yet Childermass did not stir, and it was with the utmost care that Segundus raised himself from the bed. For a time, he listened with attentiveness to the man’s draw of breath. He still found it a bit too fast for his liking, but noted each lungful seemed to come easy and free with little sign of pain or struggle. For that, Segundus felt his own breath catch with relief. He touched his hand to Childermass’ brow. No sign of fever, only the sweat of a man warm and comfortable.

Segundus rubbed bleary eyes and turned to stare at a lump upon the floor before the hearth. At some point in the night Vinculus had abandoned his chair. Now curled in Childermass’ greatcoat, the scoundrel snored and snorted his way through sleep. Mr. Segundus supposed it was no great harm, for the coat was already fouled with blood, and stained from travel, he did not think the added filth of Vinculus would make much matter. He did however feel a twinge of sympathy for Agatha, who would have the chore of laundering and mending the garment before it was returned to its owner. 

Segundus could not begrudge Vinculus his rest. The man had done as bidden, spending no small time on and off throughout the night facing down the elements in order to strengthen his spell. Segundus noted the wards were stouter this morning than they had been last night, the hum of them louder, powerful, almost frightfully so. How far Vinculus had come from that mere drunken waste of a street magician to what he was now. Segundus’ eyes returned to Childermass, how far they had all come due to the tireless efforts of one man.

Segundus silenced a groan when he finally forced his legs to movement and rose from the chair, his spine popping and crackling like dried twigs underfoot. He could hear voices echoing down the hall from the kitchen, and the stirrings of people about their tasks. Vinculus did not waken when Segundus stoked the coals and dropped a pile of kindling upon the grate. Soon the embers gave life to fire in earnest and the branches were catching in a proper blaze making short work of the creeping chill of late morning. Next, Segundus went to the windows and drew back the curtains. It was with a grateful eye that he saw the storm of night had passed and the heavy clouds had disappeared altogether. The sky over Starecross was now a pleasant enough blue scattered with harmless cotton puffs of white.

Childermass slept on in the light of morning, and Segundus noted he seemed to have gained back some of his vitality. The skin beneath his eyes did not look quite so bruised, and a bit of color now shewed beneath his stubbled cheeks. Segundus raised the blankets from Childermass’ shoulders to look at the bandaging, pleased to note that save for a few spots dried to the color of brick, all appeared as it should. A glance at the binding around his thigh shewed much the same.

There were footsteps in the hall and a moment later Agatha and Mrs. Honeyfoot appeared in the doorway. Segundus looked up with a smile, greeting them in a low voice.

“He seems well, madam, at ease and free of fever. Your care is a wonder.”

Her smile was lively, shewing nothing of the worry and toil she had led them through but a few scarce hours ago. 

“I must say Mr. Segundus, that it helps my cause indeed to have such clever and willing attendants, and a patient with the constitution of a bull.”

She set her brown satchel upon the side of the bed, while Agatha followed with a tray occupied by a basin and a stack of neatly folded linens. Mrs. Honeyfoot placed her hands upon her plump waist and fixed Segundus with her full regard.

“Now sir, you have earned your rest! Jacob has prepared some eggs and ham; for we could all do with some stout fortification this morning. Have your fill, and then off with you to bed!”

Segundus opened his mouth to protest, but Mrs. Honeyfoot would have none of it.

“Off with you sir. I do not wish to see you again for some time.”

And that it seemed, was that. The women took no more notice of Mr. Segundus, but turned their attention to their patient, while Vinculus snored on, oblivious to the bustle.

 

Pleasantly full from a meal he had not realized he needed, Mr. Segundus took simple pleasure from the splash of warm soapy water upon his face and the invigorating scrub of linen across his wet arms and neck. Clean as he would be this morning, and with a belly full of thick ham, fresh eggs, and a cupful of hot brewed tea, Mr. Segundus felt his limbs grow heavy and languid. A wide yawn cracked his jaw and brought tears to his eyes. It was with bleary and clumsy intent that he shed his rumpled and bloodied clothes and found his way into his nightshirt. After drawing the curtains against the bright cheer of the day he made his way into bed. Settling beneath the blankets, he could feel the exhaustion heavy in his bones. What a fright the past night had been! A great woven muck of blood, uncertainty, and misery! And yet somehow, an immense catastrophe had been averted. He supposed Childermass, that consummate conspirator, had guessed it would be so all along. With that thought, Segundus seized his book from the bedside table and opened to his marked page.

The knight had come upon a small band of brigands intent upon causing trouble for a troupe of traveling entertainers. With a great pounding of hooves and the flash of his sword, he put an end to their mischief and sent them scampering back into the gnarled woods from whence they had slunk. The knight was not a man of many words and he much preferred his time alone upon the road. Yet took it upon himself to see the troupe safely to the door of a small country inn. Whereupon having completed his task, he fainted dead away and fell from his horse with a great clatter. It was discovered that a bolt from the bandit leaders’ crossbow had found its mark in a weakness of the knight’s armor.

Segundus raised his eyes to the heavens, felt his jaw clench and a curse work its way betwixt grinding teeth. His patience fast waning, he read on. The innkeeper, being a kind-hearted man directed the troupe to bring the knight inside and place him abed. Segundus found himself growing cross, and but a moment later his mumbling complaints filled the silence of his room.

“What else is a good-hearted fellow to do when such a calamity brings itself to his very doorstep?. Why, of all those unlucky enough to be caught up in this story, the poor sod of an innkeeper is most assuredly the sorriest of the lot. You sir, are in for a long night!”

He closed the book with a snap. He had quite had his fill of men falling from horses, injury, and all that accompanied it, thank you! He extinguished the flame of his bedside candle with such a forceful puff that wax spattered upon the tabletop. Then, rolling onto his side, he grabbed up the covers and settled down to his well-earned rest. 

 

It was some time later that Mr. Segundus woke in the dark of his curtained room.

All was not right.

There was a force pushing at his body, and it took him a time to put a picture, a sense to that feeling. He likened it to waves on the shore, not the great pounding waves of a sea storm striving to crush all in its path, but the insistent gentleness of the smallest waves spreading soft across the sand. Pushing forward and falling back. It bumped against the wards Vinculus had set and then retreated from whence it came. Perhaps a minute passed before it returned. 

Pushing forward and falling back.

Another gentle swell. It was outside. It wanted to be inside, and it would not stop until it had rolled over Starecross, of that he was sure.

He lay for a moment, stilling his breath while he listened for sounds about the house. Segundus heard nothing amiss. This did not set his mind at ease. He threw off the covers and pulled on fresh stockings and breeches with as much haste as his sore body and fumbling fingers could manage. He did not think to spare the time to change out of his nightshirt and into proper attire. Pulling on his shoes, he dashed out the door and down the stairs to the center of the hall where he found no one. He next made his way with haste to Lady Pole’s room and burst through the door. Striding to the bedside, he stared down at the prone figure. 

Agatha looked up with a start; she had been darning a stocking and Mr. Segundus surprising entrance had nearly caused her to pierce her finger. 

“Is something wrong sir?”

“Mr. Childermass, how does he fare?”

“Why, he is quite well sir, all things considered. Though he has grown a bit restless this last hour. However, Mrs. Honeyfoot finds no cause for concern. She says he is simply settling into the task of healing.”

Then, seeing Segundus’ disheveled state. “Is something wrong sir?”

“No, it is nothing. I am sorry to disturb you.”

Agatha, who was a clever, if high-strung soul, did not seem quite convinced, but was too well mannered a servant to voice otherwise. Setting aside her work, she tugged at a corner of blanket, straightening it just so. “He is well, sir.”

Segundus gave a distracted smile, for he had noticed that Childermass stirred ever so slightly with each gentle nudge the ward turned away.

“Do you perchance know where Mr. Vinculus has gotten to?”

“The kitchen I think. He awoke but a short time ago complaining of hunger and an ache in his head.”

“Thank you Agatha, and I am sorry to cause you a fright.”

“Of course sir, it is all right.” Though her words were light, her eyes searched his face and the tiniest frown settled at the corner of her mouth. 

Vinculus was not at present, in the kitchen. Upon questioning Jacob as to his whereabouts, Segundus received a scowl and a pointed finger. “He liberated a bottle of Mr. Honeyfoot’s claret and the remaining ham and is probably in the garden causing no end of destruction! Why, I-”

“Thank you Jacob.” Segundus went for the door, checked himself for a moment and threw out in hasty afterthought, “I shall speak to him about his manners in the kitchen.” Segundus knew it did a house no good whatsoever to have a disgruntled cook, charring the puddings and undercooking the meats in surreptitious acts of vengeance. 

Vinculus was indeed outside in the garden, but Jacob’s fear of an assault on the seasonal vegetation was unfounded. Segundus discovered the man leaning against the wall separating the Starecross garden from the lane beyond, the bottle of claret in hand, the ham resting half-eaten on a cloth atop the wall. Vinculus did not turn at Segundus’ approach but remained with his eye cast north, up the lane. 

“Good morning John Segundus.”

Segundus joined Vinculus at the wall, turning his gaze in the same direction. Far to the north the road emerged from a deep and dark swath of forest. Closer to Starecross, the lane wound a gentle ribbon past fields dotted with sheep and the occasional crop. It was from the north that Childermass and Vinculus had come the night before. Segundus swallowed a lump of worry and found his voice.

“Good morning to you. Tell me what is it you see sir?”

Vinculus raised the bottle and took a drink. “In a moment, you will see for yourself.”

And he did.

Squinting against the brightness of the day, Segundus made out a figure striding down the road. Though afoot, he moved with unnatural swiftness, seeming to skip from one patch of light to the next, disappearing and reappearing in an instant. Dread seized Segundus’ body, sliding and tightening around his bones like a piece of rope left by the hangman. He shivered in a way that had nothing to do with the brisk autumn breeze.

Out here, at the very edge of the wards, the push of the spell was not such a gentle thing, and Segundus sensed it grow that little bit stronger with the closure of distance between Starecross and the figure. 

Vinculus swore and raised the bottle to his lips, took one long drink, then another, followed by another. When he was satisfied he let out a belch to shake the stones from the wall and spoke.

“That right there John Segundus may be the end of us all, almost certainly the end of John Childermass.” 

Without awaiting a reply to this dire premonition, he retrieved the ham, turned on his heel and made his way up the garden path; whistling a sharp little tune through his teeth, and leaving Mr. Segundus quite alone with a nest of frightful thoughts.


	4. An offer politely refused

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Mr. Segundus finds courage he did not know he possessed, and steps forward to meet the visitor from the north.

Mr. Segundus stood at the gate of Starecross in a rumpled nightshirt half tucked into his breeches, his hair uncombed and all a tangle, staring across the lane at the figure leaning against the wall. Eyes the color of glass regarded him from beneath the brim of Childermass’ battered hat. Pale ragged hair crowded a narrow face, but could not hide the bemused turn of the creature’s lips. Spidery fingers tipped with filthy nails stained the color of rust reached inside a vast overcoat. Segundus noted the coat was fine in every way that Childermass’ was not. Woven from the lightest of pale grey wool, it was a far step above its dark and tattered twin. The hand emerged from the coat holding a slender pipe, black and gleaming as a raven’s wing. All in all, Mr. Segundus was both astounded and distressed to note that Childermass had somehow seemed to find and cross his own faerie counterpart! 

“Good afternoon John Segundus.”

Segundus shivered. Whereas Childermass’ voice was a low rough rasp full of smoke and secrets. The voice of the stranger was a treacherous well brimming with false promises and misfortune. He felt what little hope he had carried to this encounter scatter down the muddy lane like so many dead leaves in the breeze.

“Good afternoon to you, sir,” he answered at length. He waited, but the faerie did not seem inclined to speak, but instead occupied itself with filling and lighting the pipe. Segundus swallowed and pressed on. “How is it that I may be of service, sir?”

The faerie looked up from his task with a scowl. “Such timidity and artifice when you know exactly what I am about.”

Segundus said not a word. The faerie’s scowl deepened. “I will play your game, but I must warn you sir, though my patience is famed throughout the twenty-four realms of Desolation, today I am feeling a bit harried.” The faerie stabbed in the direction of Starecross with his pipe. “John Childermass, you will bring him to me.”

Segundus gathered himself and stood a little straighter. “That sir, I cannot do.”

The faerie’s pale eyes narrowed. A wave of power struck the wards. Segundus felt the echo clear to his bones. “Cannot, or will not?”

“Consider them both in equal measure. Mr. Childermass is gravely wounded, as I am sure you are aware. He cannot leave his bed. Secondly, sir, I doubt your intentions.” 

At this, the faerie threw back his head and laughed for a great long time. Mr. Segundus thought he heard the rumble of thunder in the north. A wave of magic broke; Segundus felt the ward bend beneath the impact, the pressure was uncomfortable and disorientating. 

At length, the faerie recovered enough from the fit of humor to speak. “You may tell me this,” said the being, a moment before it took the time to draw a puff from the pipe, a cloud of smoke accompanying the words. “Why do you risk your life for a man who oft brings naught but vexation and disruption to your doorstep? Time again, John Childermass has told you how it will be, and you sir, were powerless to do otherwise. Your loyalty to this scoundrel has piqued my curiosity.” Another puff of smoke and the voice dropped to a low conspiratorial tone that wound its way across the road like a viper from the grass. “But now, I offer this chance to rid your long-suffering self of this individual. Deliver to me John Childermass, and in turn I will bring prosperity to these grounds and all who live upon it.”

Here Mr. Segundus was not surprised by such an offer, for did it not seem the same from one tale or another that beings of magic and power tempted humans with the promise of riches and rewards they had not earned? And did not such things always sort themselves out to disastrous effect? Segundus was not so foolish as to believe, like many before him, that he should be the lucky calf to escape the butcher. By turn, he could not blame the creature, for if honey drew the ants, why ever would one suddenly decide to use cabbage? In truth, there _were_ a great many things Mr. Segundus wished for, but not a one of them was worth the life of John Childermass. Still, he had enough of his wits about him to understand the danger of refusing an offer so bluntly. 

“You are indulgent in your proposal, sir. Tell me how will you do such things should I agree to your terms and give you what you ask?”

The faerie smiled a most horrible smile that stretched through a long silence. It was quite unnerving watching that pale ragged hair flutter from beneath Childermass’ hat in the same way the dark locks of the hats’ true owner would shift in the breeze. When the faerie at last spoke, its voice was easy and measured, as if the being were merely presenting the merits of one apple above another. 

“The gifts I will grant you are beyond compare. I will tell you that my generosity has never been so grand! I will cut off his hands and feet, and you will ride forth as far as you wish in the four directions. And at such time as you please, you may stop and bury a limb. These will mark the boundaries of your domain. I care not if you were to ride to the very oceans! The choice is yours, sir. Then, I will pluck his eyes from his skull. These I shall place beneath the stones of your threshold. He is clever and sees too much; however, I will turn that talent in your favor. The eyes of John Childermass will allow you to see into the heart of every mortal that crosses your threshold. His blood, lowborn as it is, will not go to waste. It shall provide a feast for your orchard, and from that the trees will produce great bushels of fruit each season, Finally, I will set John Childermass upon this wall and carve out his heart slow as I please. Here, you will forgive my selfishness, for his heart I will keep for myself. ”

The faerie regarded Segundus with those glittering eyes before raising the pipe to its lips. Segundus was sick with the sight of it. Near overcome with the magic assaulting his senses, and now the reflection of all that was described coming to be, he wanted nothing more than to turn and retch into the thornbriar at his feet. Instead, he thought of Childermass lying wounded and helpless abed. This creature would not have the man!

Segundus knew he must choose his words with care; for he remembered Mr. Honeyfoot’s hurried warning, that in dealing with these loathsome creatures, one should always tell the truth, but never all of it. A faerie could spot a lie as easily as a hawk spies the mouse in the field, but the truth could be hidden away right before their very eyes, or ears as it were. All the advice was well and good, yet standing here before this frightful being was an entirely different matter. He was certain he could not outsmart a faerie on his best day, and he feared it was only a matter of time before fatigue and fear caused him to misspeak. 

“You offer an intriguing bargain, sir. You are correct when you say that John Childermass has caused me no small vexation on too many occasions to count.” This was by far the utmost truth. “He is also not above tyranny in employing his methods,” again, not a lie to be found. “Yet even so, I have given him my protection. Now, if I was to go back on my word that would make me no better than he.” Here, Segundus made a face. “The very thought of finding myself so low displeases me! A fellow of your standing - much greater than my own - must appreciate that a gentleman does not go back on his word, even to one so base as Childermass.”

There was a long silence while the faerie once again paused in thoughtful repose, smoke ringing and twisting about its head as if it were a living thing. At length it spoke, a glimpse of amusement sparkled in the pale eyes. “There is one thing you must know as a certainty. John Childermass will suffer for his trespass; my offering to you is merely a courtesy, being by no means a necessity.”

Segundus nodded. “This sir, I understand with clarity, and yet, I cannot do as you ask. I will not break my word.”

The faerie let out a deep exhalation of frustration. “How then, do you feel about gold? I will give you a great pile of it, tall as you are. It will take years to count it all…No! I shall do one better! Chuse any room in that great rambling structure and I will fill it to the very rafters, all for you good sir!”

Above the trees, far to the north storm clouds began to fill the sky. A sudden wind whipped Segundus’ tangled hair across his eyes causing him to blink and raise a hand to rub away the sting. It was in turning his distracted attention once again to the faerie that Segundus noted something peculiar. A glimpse askance shewed the great beautiful coat was torn and stained in several places. The casual pose against the wall seemed to favor a leg, and a bright smear of red discolored a pale cheek. Segundus felt some measure of hope stir. Though Childermass had come off by far the worse in the fight, he nonetheless had struck true with a blow, or more. Mr. Segundus had no intention of challenging this monster to a duel by blade, or any other mundane instrument of destruction for that matter, and he was not certain that this newfound feeling of hope was anything more than a deception. Still, he felt strength fill his limbs and his fear recede while the faerie continued with its growing tirade.

“He has meddled where he has no right. Trespassed where he has no claim. For two-thousand years no mortal blade touched my skin and now, my beautiful hide is forever ruined!” The faerie’s fingers dabbed at its torn cheek. “You will bring me that insolent gutter-born fiend at once!”

Mr. Segundus gave a smile and shook his head, for the first time feeling that he might gain the upper hand in this frightful encounter. “You flatter me with generosity far beyond what I deserve, but I must most kindly and politely refuse. Childermass will remain with me.”

A fit seemed to wrack the faerie from the top of its head to the end of every limb. A child in tantrum after it was told it could not have the sweets it desired. It plucked the pipe from its mouth.

“You!” snarled the being, pointing the black stem of the pipe at Segundus. “You are fond of him, and not in the way a man has a fondness for his favorite hound. You cherish John Childermass above any other creature of this world.”

Segundus’ small moment of victory was a fleeting thing. His heart pounded in his chest and before he could even think to stop the words from crossing his lips, it was far too late. 

“No, that is not so.”

A lie.

The faerie smiled a smile to turn children to stone, and send cats hissing into the dark. “A falsity sir, plain as the ground upon which you stand. I rescind my offer.” 

Here Mr. Segundus did give voice to point out that he had never agreed to any offer. He watched the faerie raise its head and glance along the length of Starecross, pale eyes prying and accessing for weakness. To Segundus’ horror, it seemed to find what it sought.

“The magic of John Uskglass’ book will fail, for that blue scribbled drunkard has not the will to match me. I need not touch one dark hair upon John Childermass’ head. It will be you sir who destroys what you hold dear, and I will have twice my satisfaction!”

Segundus felt a tremor seize his limbs when the faerie drew something from the folds of his coat. It gleamed in the bright afternoon sun and flashed before his eyes causing him to blink. A knife, plain and serviceable with a large and wicked blade, it was most certainly not the fine weapon of a gentleman. Segundus recognized it at once; it was Childermass’ own knife, tarnished with blood. Segundus licked his lips and forced his voice past a throat now dry as stone in the sun.

“And what is it you have there sir?”

The faerie ran a finger across the bloody tinge coating the blade. “Oh, I think you know well enough John Segundus, for you fairly reek of it. Soon it will drown your world,” with terrible swiftness the faerie raised his arm and drove the blade into the stone atop the wall. Then, in horrible parody, the fiend lowered its head and reclined against the structure, blending with the stone and light of the afternoon sun until it became near invisible save for the drift of pipe smoke in the breeze.


	5. No certain future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whereupon our heroes endure one bad turn of fortune after another, and Mr. Segundus finds himself burdened with the most terrible of tasks. 
> 
> -Through his growing distress, Childermass managed the smallest and crookedest and most enigmatic of his smiles. “And why sir, do you think I rode so far and so fast, when I could have found some measure of safety and care at any number of destinations?”

Three magicians stood in the kitchen of Starecross Hall. One, a kindly scholar with a great memory for tales, another, a troubled man who feared his value began and ended at his blue-scribbled skin, and the third, a man who had seen his world turned upside down in the merest passing of a day.

Mr. Honeyfoot peered through the window at the sky. The blue of the day was swiftly darkening before an onslaught of clouds scudding down from the north. Outside the orchard trees had begun to stir to and fro in the growing wind. “Faeries, I do wish they did not feel so compelled to be so dastardly dramatic with the elements; though I suppose they cannot help their natures,” muttered Mr. Honeyfoot to no one in particular before turning his attention back to his comrades.

“Tell us sir, what of its demands.”

Mr. Segundus swallowed, feeling sick with the words he must repeat. “The creature wishes for me to surrender Childermass. In return, it promises untold riches and prosperity, more gold than could be counted in a year.”

“Foolishness and lies! A staple of that foul race!” Admonished Mr. Honeyfoot.

“Indeed, never once did I think this creature sincere, though I joined in its game as best I was able. The description of the vengeance to be perpetrated upon John Childermass is to horrifying to repeat sirs. We cannot, must not, give in!”

Here Mr. Segundus could speak no further of what transpired. He could not bring himself to tell the others that the faerie had named him the death of Childermass. As Mr. Honeyfoot said, it was foolishness and nonsense, tricks designed to eat at his heart and mind. 

“Vinculus, in your flight did Childermass mention nothing of a plan against his enemy? I find it unlike him to be ill prepared.”

Vinculus left off scratching at his elbow and shook his head. “He had no strength to spare. He said not a word; save that Starecross Hall was the end of our journey. If there is a plan in place, not even his horse will breathe a word, and that brute and I have an understanding.”

Segundus felt his heart sink. “Do you think your wards will hold sir?”

Vinculus paused, his face thoughtful. “Consider the nature of John Childermass. Now, consider the nature of a creature that sent said man of business fleeing with what remained of his life.” Vinculus took a large bite and answered around a mouthful of fine salted ham. “I do not put much hope in our odds gentlemen.” 

The others were swift to see his point. 

It was Segundus who recovered first. “Be that as it may sirs, we have little choice in our course of action. If Childermass bid you set the wards, then we must believe that it was for a reason. To gain us time would seem the obvious purpose.”

“I don’t think it was so much of a bidding as a demand,” muttered Vinculus, washing down the ham with a mouthful of claret. “However, I can find no fault in your reasoning,” 

“Perhaps then, we must call upon the Raven King. If any have the power to turn away a faerie it would be he! With magic restored to England, he is closer now than he has been for centuries. Childermass has above all else been John Uskglass’ loyal servant, and, we have his book!” Suggested Mr. Honeyfoot.

“We may try, yes, but how?” came Segundus’ frustrated reply. “Why we have not even succeeded in deciphering his book! We may cast our prayers to the Raven King, but we must think gentlemen, we are magicians and we must find the answer if we are to save Childermass!”

“I have told you, I cannot read myself,” answered Vinculus in a peevish voice, still rubbing insistently at his arm. “I suggest we-”

Suddenly Jacob burst into the kitchen, his eyes alighting on Segundus. “Mr. Childermass is awake sir, and he is asking for you!”

 

“Childermass!”

The change from this morning was frightful. The man’s hair was now damp with sweat, his arms, neck and chest slick with it. The healthy color that had shewn in his face but a few hours earlier had drained away leaving a ghastly pallor. It was with effort that he brought his gaze to focus on Mr. Segundus.

“It is here,” not a question but an affirmation.

Segundus knelt next to the bed. “Yes, a faerie, it waits outside upon the lane. It demands that I give you over. You must rest easy, for I will never do such a thing!”

Childermass grimaced. “Never is a dangerous word Mr. Segundus…yet, if fortune holds, you shall not have to do as the fiend asks.” Childermass’ eyes searched the room. “My overcoat, where is it sir?”

Segundus turned to see. It was gone from its place upon the hearth. “Agatha must have taken it to be mended and laundered.”

Childermass made a frustrated noise, his words growled between clenched teeth. “The breast pocket, you will find a scrap of grey cloth…bloody…its blood. Use it sir!”

Segundus felt hope spark. He reached forward to clasp Childermass’ arm. “I saw that you wounded it. You have torn its cheek and its fine coat is tattered and bloody!”

Here Childermass’ face shone brief with some measure of satisfaction. “I employed a trick or two; it was my misfortune that it knew many more.”

A wave struck the ward with more violence than any previous, for a moment Segundus’ vision blurred and wavered as if he were peering through a window of old warped glass. He heard Childermass gasp and his hand moved to press at the bandage circling his chest. When the pressure of the wave had passed there was fear in John Childermass’ eyes. “The wards will not hold past dawn. If you find no success by then…you must give me over, or cheat the creature of its prize. Tell me, among all the promises, has it asked for my heart?”

“Yes,” a bare scratch of an answer.

“You must not give it over. You will see it destroyed.”

Mr. Segundus was aghast. “I cannot! I will not do such a detestable thing!”

Childermass’ fingers curled into the lapel of Segundus’ coat, a desperate gesture. “Do you despise me so much John Segundus…that you would have me a thrall to that creature for all eternity. That is my fate at best, though it is my greatest fear…that it shall be far worse. In my saddlebag, two pistols. See that they are used…two shots true, Mr. Segundus. I care not what becomes of my corpse thereafter, only do as I bid.”

A fist of ice clasped John Segundus’ heart. Outside, a mad howl of delight rose above the wind. Segundus head bowed, one hand came up to grasp the trembling hand wound within the fabric of his coat.

“The creature said that I would be the one to bring about your death, sir, and here you are making such a request of me! If the end is writ, than what chance have we?”

Here Childermass made a noise of dismissal. “The misery of the circumstance I have brought upon us all is easy fodder for a creature of that ilk… Faeries are liars of the grandest proportions, and I know I am not the first to tell you so. You are aware…they twist and distort until a man cannot see what is in front of him, though it may be his salvation.”

Childermass voice had faded to a gritty rasp. Segundus poured a glass of water from the bedside table. Raising Childermass’ head, he held the glass to the man’s lips. Childermass took but a few sips before he pushed the glass away.

“There is only one type of magic to combat these creatures. The magic you must use is old magic,” here Childermass’ gave a short laugh, despite his pain. “It is most certainly not respectable. It is dark and fierce; it will be hard for you to find John Segundus, you are not a creature of the field and the wild, but of the hearth.” Mr. Segundus could not be certain, but he thought that perhaps he had just been insulted in the subtlest of manners. He set the cup aside and eased Childermass’ head back to the pillow.

“Now is not the time for experimentation, sir.” Protested Segundus, thinking of the horror that awaited should such a gamble fail.

Childermass dismissed this with a frustrated shake of his head. “That is as it is; it is the only magic sir, which has any chance of driving the creature off!”

Segundus would not leave off. “We have but one book, which we cannot read.”

“John Segundus, the thing about old magic is that it comes from within as much as without. It is a powerful force born from the heart and spirit. It needs no book, at least not of the likes found within Mr. Norrell’s grasp.”

“You think that this will work, but you do not know. That somehow the blood upon the cloth will pull this together.” Childermass did not answer one way or another, yet the look upon his face told Mr. Segundus all he needed and more.

“There is no guarantee in it sir! Here you are, asking me to play a game with your life following with the most horrific consequences. Do not think that the act which you will have me perpetrate will not haunt me the rest of my days!”

Childermass sighed. “John Segundus, you humble me, and yet I must say that I have lived well and true to my nature. A man could ask for no more. If this is the end, I pray it _be_ the end.”

Neither man spoke a word for quite some time.

“If the spell fails,” whispered Segundus with empty ferocity. “I will do as you ask. You have my word, but you will understand sir,” and here his voice swelled with strength and conviction. “That I will do everything within my power to see that I need never carry out such a loathsome and tragic request!”

Through his growing distress, Childermass managed the smallest and crookedest and most enigmatic of his smiles. “And why, sir, do you think I rode so far and so fast, when I could have found some measure of safety and care at any number of destinations?”

He seemed to take delight in the shock shewing so plain upon Mr. Segundus’ face. Then his eyes closed and he shifted in discomfort, the hand resting atop the bandage clenching until his knuckles shewed white.

“Now please…you have work to attend to, sir.” 

 

Segundus found Agatha in the kitchen working over neat stacks of bandaging set upon the table. “Agatha, Mr. Childermass is asking after his greatcoat. It is missing from its place at the hearth. Do you know where it has gotten to?”

The housekeeper looked up with a smile. “Why, I have laundered it sir, it hangs in the warming room. It cleaned up very well. When I am done with the mending, Mr. Childermass will not even know the difference from before!” Agatha was a fine and accomplished seamstress; it was a common occurrence for residents of the village to bring by their mending, and even commission her for the creation of a dress or coat. To be sure, her clever mind and fingers looked forward to the challenge of repairing such an ancient and sorely abused garment.

Segundus mood lightened despite his distraction and worry. “I am sure that will please him greatly, that coat has been his companion for many years. Why, it has been in his possession long before I had even made his acquaintance. Now, the items from the pockets, where do you keep them?”

“Right here sir.” She went to a shelf and pulled down a small basket, which she handed over to Segundus.

Taking the basket, Segundus stayed his hand for a moment; placed with care upon the top of the contents was Childermass’ pipe. Though it had previously caused him no small amount of irritation, Segundus longed for a time soon in the future, when he would find himself striding into the kitchen to see Childermass reclining in a chair, ankles crossed and feet upon the table; puffing at his pipe whilst listening to Jacob carry on about the many tribulations of his seven highly irresponsible siblings.

Segundus gently placed the pipe and pouch of tobacco upon the table, vowing to bring the article to its owner as soon as the man had recovered some strength. Next there came an old leather purse, plump and heavy with coins, followed by a rather fine and tidy kerchief with fancy laced edges and an embroidered “H” in a delicate lilac hue. A small notebook wrapped in a piece of oiled canvas, and oddly five pieces of quartz saw him to the bottom of the basket. Mr. Segundus let out a hiss of irritation. Opening the purse, he dumped the contents into the basket finding nothing but the glitter of guineas and some shillings. His desperation increasing, fingers scrabbled at the canvas about the notebook where he found not what he sought but instead succeeded in breaking the two charcoal sticks so carefully kept.

“Is something wrong sir? You have my word that all of value is accounted for.”

Segundus dropped the tobacco pouch and rounded on Agatha. “There was a piece of cloth in the breast pocket, grey and bloodied. Where is it? I must have it at once!”

“In the breast pocket? Why sir, it is gone. I burned it in the fire. It was a foul thing, all bloodied and stained. Why ever would I save it?”

The strength near left Segundus’ legs.

“Sir, what is it? Have I done something wrong? I thought I was to launder and mend Mr. Childermass’ coat.”

Segundus did not know what to make of this sudden revelation. He stood leaning against the table for support, his head hanging while he pondered the repercussions of Agatha’s innocent admission.

“Mr. Segundus, sir, please tell me what it is that I have done!”

Segundus swallowed, somehow managing to find his voice. “The cloth, it was not Childermass’ blood, but that of the fiend who waits upon the lane. Mr. Childermass bid me use it to create a spell that would drive the creature away. I do not know what we will do without it.”

A cry of despair flew from Agatha’s lips and tears filled her eyes. She rushed to Mr. Segundus’ side and grasped his arm in desperation. “Sir, I did not know! Please, you must understand that I wish for nothing more than to see Mr. Childermass safe and restored to health!” She clasped her hand to her mouth trying to catch the sobs shaking her light frame before finally collapsing into a chair at the table. “My foolishness will be the death of Mr. Childermass!”

Mr. Segundus’ heart filled with pity for the poor woman. What was done was done and he could not bring himself to feel anger towards her, when not a whit of this was her doing. “Hush, you could not have known. You were only fulfilling your tasks. Come now!”

Yet Agatha seemed inconsolable. Her head now buried in her arms, her body wracked by growing sobs. It was at this time a wave struck the wards, by far the most powerful yet. The very air itself seemed to bend and shimmer as if in a world underwater. Segundus grasped the table, near overcome with a feeling of nausea. Then, he heard something amidst the chaos of the swell, the faintest, smallest clink of glass cracking. In that moment, he had the feeling of something red and sharp prowling the halls of Starecross. It was but a moment later that it found what it sought and Mr. Segundus was certain, he would never forget that terrible cry of anguish and fear echoing through Starecross Hall. 

 

Childermass lay on his side at the edge of the bed, one limp arm reaching toward the floor and the Cards of Marseilles scattered upon the rug.

“Mr. Childermass!” Mrs. Honeyfoot dashed to the bedside, a brisk flurry of rustling gown and concern carried past Segundus on plump legs. With the greatest care she eased the unconscious man onto his back. A moment later a cry of dismay and disbelief filled the air.

“This cannot be!”

Alarmed, Segundus peered past her shoulder. The bandage circling Childermass’ chest and the bedding upon which he had laid shewed damp and red with blood. Segundus remembered the clink and crack of glass. It was not sickness at the horror of so much fresh blood, nor overbearing despair that welled within John Segundus’ soul, but fury. Segundus recalled Childermass’ bloodied knife buried in the wall. The faerie’s gambit had been the same as Childermass’ own, now played out with cruel mockery!

“This is not the result of a lapse in your skill madam, but magic employed by our enemy. The wound is nothing more than you first perceived, yet that fiend has found a way to enchant it in a bid to wreak yet more misery! You must take heart and trust in your fine skills!”

Segundus felt the scrape of something underfoot and looked down to see the forgotten Cards of Marseilles. He knelt upon the floor, sweeping Childermass’ prized cards up until his hands overflowed with the rough, warm scraps of paper; while trying to gather them into some sense of order, his hands stilled of a sudden. The Knight of Wands, the Fool, the Moon, the Tower, the careful drawings were all gone, each card to the last now black and empty as John Childermass’ future.


	6. The most desperate of measures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the gravest of circumstances arise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s a good thing none of these characters know where I live.

Mr. Segundus realized it was quite simply, no use. The spell, small enough to slide through the barest crack in the ward, realized its purpose with ceaseless efficiency; an ancient spell wrought from the vilest of magic and meant to bring deepest misery and suffering. It would take, and take, and take, until John Childermass had no more to give.

_Soon it will drown your world._

Segundus remembered those prophetic words spoken but just this morning. He looked down at his bloodied hands. Only this morning, yet it felt as if they had been living in this catastrophe for days without end.

With an uncharacteristic cry of frustration, Mrs. Honeyfoot stepped away from the bedside, her skirts sweeping across a growing pile of stained linen. “I cannot stop the bleeding, sir! The tinctures, salves, bandaging, nothing is working as it should. It is but a shallow cut,” Mrs. Honeyfoot assured Segundus, as if he might question her knowledge. “And yet it bleeds as if something is,” here she paused to search and gather her words correctly, “calling the blood from the wound. This cannot go on! And where is Agatha? I am in need of her assistance and she remains absent!”

Mr. Segundus placed a steadying hand upon Mrs. Honeyfoot’s arm. “It pains me greatly madam to say that in this, I am afraid your formidable knowledge and skill will not be enough. Magic has caused this misery, and only magic may cure it! As for Agatha, I fear that the circumstances have for the moment, overwhelmed her senses. We must give her a bit more time to compose herself; it is a kindness we should not begrudge,” answered Segundus softly, before he moved to dab at a rivulet of blood trailing down Childermass’ side.

Mrs. Honeyfoot had at last removed the bandaging all together, for Childermass could no longer stand even the lightest touch upon the injury. With each passing moment Childermass grew ever more restless. During the worst of it, his fingers would curl into the blankets, twisting fistfuls of the fabric in a futile effort to find release from his pain; for no amount of laudanum could bring him relief and Mrs.Honeyfoot grew fearful of an overdose.

"There are other measures I might try. Uncommon mixtures which may bring about the desired effect. They will take some time to prepare sir. I shall leave him in your care."

Mr. Segundus nodded, wiped his brow upon his sleeve, and took several large swallows from the cup of tepid tea near the bedside. The violence of the faerie’s magic battering the wards caused his head to spin and his stomach to turn. Thankfully, the fortifying combination of tea brewed to near bitterness and heaping spoonfuls of sugar were for now enough to keep him clear of mind and free of sickness, but he was not certain how long this could prevail. He was at times so disorientated that he felt he was trapped in one of those fantastic and frightful diving contraptions, only being able to move with slow and ponderous steps through the heavy currents of air.

On occasion Mr. Segundus felt the brief comforting flare of familiar magic overtake the faerie magic washing over Starecross. Vinculus had perceived the fracture in the ward quite acutely, and had immediately hurried outside in an effort to find and repair the fissure before the faerie wrought further damage. He was as relentless in his determination to keep the wards repaired as the fiend was to bring them down. It was, John Segundus reflected, a test of wills. A battle the faerie had spoken of winning with all the arrogant certainty of that race. The creature had called Vinculus a weak man, and a drunkard. While one of those things could not be disputed, the second, most importantly, was shewing itself to be something quite different.

Segundus could not say that this effort was due to any true friendship between Vinculus and Childermass. If anything, Vinculus’ insolence was thrice as biting when directed at his keeper. Here Segundus could not judge the man too harshly, for having been on the receiving end of Childermass’ demands, there was he admitted the greatest temptation to tally a mark whenever the rare occasion permitted. Yet it was obvious Vinculus took no pleasure in seeing the man suffer, and if he wished to be free, last night presented the greatest of opportunities. Vinculus could have left Childermass to endure his fate but had instead seen him to safety.

Mr. Segundus left aside this thought to wipe a dampened rag with utmost care along the hollow of Childermass’ shoulder where a pool of blood was slowly collecting. He knew it was a gesture he would be forced to repeat many times over this evening, and he did his best to check his growing rage at the circumstances fortune had cast against them. For what hope was there in the face of such disastrous odds foretold by their enemy?

The Raven King? Vinculus professed such faith a fool’s gambit. Yet Segundus knew it to be the fairest truth that Childermass was always and forever John Uskglass’ man. The Raven King was not a being to be summoned, but he must know, he had to know of the suffering his faithful servant endured. Unless these appalling circumstances were the will of the Raven King himself, a punishment for Childermass’ trespass and discovery of Jonathan Strange and Gilbert Norrell. No, it could not be so! Segundus could not bring himself to believe Childermass would disobey his true master for the likes of that fussy, selfish little man.

With little more thought than that, Mr. Segundus knew what he must do. It was desperate, foolish even, for he had no idea what would become of this act. Yet act he must, for there seemed no other paths left to take beyond those dictated by the tyranny of the creature waiting upon the lane.

Segundus’ eyes lit upon the Cards of Marseilles stacked with care upon the bedside table. They were not a magic he was comfortable with, they were old magic, and some would even say dark magic. They were the magic of Faerie and of John Uskglass. He reached for the cards, when his hand closed around them he gave a start. No longer warm and rough as when he had first swept them off the floor, they now felt chilled and brittle, ready to crumble away to dust in his grasp. With greatest caution he shuffled them through his fingers, one after another, after another, watching, feeling. A hint of warmth, his fingers stopped, this was the one, the messenger. He held it in the palm of his hand as if it were a living thing. He turned the card over; it remained as black and empty as its companions. It did not matter, for he knew this was the one to see his plea to John Uskglass. Segundus placed the card upon the table with great gentleness before returning the others to their place.

Now for the message.

He took up a fresh piece of linen and went to the bedside. There he stood for quite some time clutching the cloth, staring down at the unconscious form of John Childermass. “I made you a promise sir, and I will keep it. But I think, I pray, there may be another way. I shall send word to your king. It is a gamble, and without your counsel I cannot be sure of the result. However, I must try!” Segundus hesitated, his face tight with worry and sorrow. “Please forgive me this unkindness, but I feel the message must convey the misery and desperation of our circumstance.”

Then, with as much care as possible he pressed the linen to the seeping wound on Childermass’ chest, catching up fresh clots of blood. At the first touch Childermass head thrashed upon the pillow and a low groan escaped his lips. “I am sorry, sir, so deeply sorry.” Segundus pulled the bloodied cloth from the injury and placed a steadying hand upon Childermass’ shoulder; trying to bring some comfort in the face of the pain he had wrought.

Segundus had the messenger, and now the message, sharp and raw as the wound it was drawn from. All that remained was to find the path. Running water would be the swiftest and surest, but the stream that wound its way throughout the Starecross countryside lay outside the protection of the wards. Mr. Segundus looked at the card and the wad of bloodied cloth. He could not be sure the faerie had not already guessed this maneuver and waited for an opportunity. Segundus could not risk such precious items falling into the hands of that clever fiend!

“If not water, than what shall it be?”

The earth itself could be trusted; he might bury the bundle in the garden and each plant, each blade of grass and tree would know of John Childermass’ plight. The message would spread throughout the land, but could he be sure it would reach Faerie and John Uskglass? It could be the trees of Faerie were as treacherous as its other denizens and would keep Segundus’ plea a secret or chuse instead to spread lies. It was at this time he realized another flaw in this course of action. He did no know the first thing about speaking to trees or grass! Proper introductions, customs, language, it was all unknown to him.

Think! He must think. He stared for a moment at the flames in the hearth. A wad of pitch popped, sending out tiny smoking cinders upon the hearthstones. Mr. Segundus saw grey tendrils rise and disappear.

“Smoke!”

Insidious and clever, it had a mind of its own unless set upon a proper path. By turns it might represent comfort, or be taken as a harbinger of danger, yet Mr. Segundus was sure it owed no allegiance to either mortal or faerie. He need not know how to speak to it, only send his message and it would rise on the wind and disperse!

“Now, I must have something… something to carry it all, or the message will fade too quickly! Something strong, it must have power of its own…it must be familiar to _him_!”

His went about the room, darting here and there in desperation, taking up and discarding items in the same breath. Then his eyes came once again to the hearth and a few broken remains of kindling left from this morning. With a cry Mr. Segundus rushed forward. Scattering the pile across the hearthstones he searched with scrabbling fingers until he found what he needed, a few slim and twisted twigs of yew; wood that had fallen from an ancient tree rumored by Mrs. Lennox to have been planted in the Starecross garden by the Raven King himself. Selecting three of the finest pieces, Mr. Segundus placed them upon the blackened Card of Marseilles. Working with utmost haste, he tore a long strip from the linen newly stained with John Childermass’ blood and wound it around the articles until he had a secure and tidy bundle.

He raised the item before his eyes, not entirely certain of what he had created, but sure of its purpose. It had not come from a book; it had come from the desperation and fear so heavy in his heart! He knelt upon the hearthstones, ignoring the cracks and ridges of stone digging into his knees. The heat of the fire was nearly too much, the warmth causing him to narrow his eyes and pull in hot shallow breaths. He lifted the bundle, and found much to his dismay that he could find no words with which to give voice to his spell. What swirled within his soul was too great and heavy and did not lend itself to language without a struggle.

Segundus slumped back on his heels dropping the bundle onto the hearthstones. He scrubbed at his face in frustration. This was all so much to be placed upon his narrow shoulders! He remembered that night some years back when he had told Childermass that magic was his life. Now, at this very moment, he hated it all more than he could possibly utter. He felt it was a great jumbled and blackened ball of knots swirling within his mind. So it was that in the end, there was nothing poetic or eloquent about his entreaty, just words tumbling from his tongue, urgent and desperate. It was as straightforward and plain of language as the man he wished so desperately to save.

“I beseech you; carry this message with utmost haste to John Uskglass, the Raven King. His servant, John Childermass is in gravest danger, and I beg that our king save him from an enemy intent on the foulest and most vicious revenge imaginable!”

Segundus dropped the bundle into the heart of the flames and waited, and waited still longer, for impossibly, fantastically, the items remained untouched. They lay upon the logs in the center of the crackling blaze as whole as if they were still in his hand. Mr. Segundus blinked in surprise that turned swiftly to befuddlement and consternation. Then he swept up a long piece of kindling and poked at the bundle. Though the stick passed through the flames, smoking and eventually catching fire, it could not reach its goal. He let out a cry of frustration just before he noticed something of the oddest sort.

The air had become still. Though he sat before the hearth feeling waves of heat roll across his body, he thought he saw the chill puff of his breath cloud before his eyes, and he felt the slide of cold refreshing air upon his face. The scent of forest loam and rain filled his nose and cooled his heated lungs for a breath and then one more. What this all meant, Mr. Segundus had not the faintest of notions. Wild magic, he knew, was unpredictable and this was certainly of that ilk. A heartbeat later it faded as quickly as it had appeared. Yet it did not leave John Segundus empty, for he felt some strength and surety of purpose settle into his limbs.

He looked to Childermass and saw to his surprize that the man’s eyes were open and what’s more, lucid. Childermass’ gaze slipped past Segundus to the articles that remained untouched in the flames. He seemed about to speak when Segundus smiled and made to rise, doing his best to ignore the creaks and aches in his abused knees.

“Sir, I have sent a message to your master John Uskglass begging his-”

Mr. Segundus never finished his sentence. For of a sudden there was the most horrific sound and feeling of collision. The boom of thunder echoed within the very walls of Starecross shaking the structure so violently the great old timbers bent and trembled while plaster fell from the walls and the spiders in the rafters scattered in terror.

“Ungrateful wretch! You dare abuse my indulgence and friendship so sorely? You deceitful little mouse of a man! Before the sun rises I will have you apologize and beg for forgiveness until your very tongue falls from your treacherous mouth!”

Mr. Segundus’ hands flew to his ears while the voice battered him from all around. His legs gave way and he crashed to the hearthstones so violently he tore his stockings and bloodied his knees. The old manor groaned beneath the blows that came one after another. Mr. Segundus heard the crash of pictures falling from the walls and the clinking rattle of toppling china.

In the hearth he saw a bright spark of blue grew to a deep rich cobalt that became a flame, which caught and spread across the card, yew, and linen until they were fully surrounded. Of a sudden the bundle disappeared in a great burst of light and from it all a cloud of smoke twisted and writhed above the fire before disappearing up the chimney.

There was an unbearable shriek of rage that went to the very center of Mr. Segundus bones, and then blessed silence. he was not certain how long he remained within this silence and stupor yet at some point he looked up to see Mrs. Honeyfoot, Mr. Honeyfoot, and Jacob. Mrs. Honeyfoot looked quite shaken and disturbed. “Mr. Segundus! Whatever has happened? That racket was most otherworldly and frightful! Why I think every picture in the house has come off the walls!

Mr. Honeyfoot rushed to Segundus side and took him by the arm. Segundus rose, for the moment unsteady on his feet as a newborn foal, “I-I cannot say for certain madam…It is my hope that I have sent a message to the Raven King, begging his aid in this unfortunate circumstance.”

“The Raven King?” echoed Mr. Honeyfoot. “Do you think he will come to our aid?” Somehow, Mr. Honeyfoot’s expression managed to convey both hope and doubt in equal measure. Segundus released himself from the steadying hand, did his best to straighten his jacket and somehow return himself to some semblance of order; no easy task with him feeling as if his bones had been shuffled about by those great booming assaults.

“It is my greatest hope sir, for I can see no way through this beyond the intervention of the Raven King, for it seems we are trapped and outmatched. Do what you can for Childermass madam. I will return to render whatever aid I can but first there is a task I must see to with utmost haste.”

  


  


Alone in his room, Mr. Segundus opened the saddlebag and carefully removed the weapons stowed within; a matched pair of indeterminate age, neither fine nor elegant but solid and serviceable. Their demeanor fit well with that of their owner, and all about them shewed that John Childermass kept them as well as he kept all of his ancient and sparse possessions. Upon initial examination it was easy to see that both pistols had been newly fired, Segundus guessed this having occurred during the flight out of Faerie. He set the guns upon an old piece of cloth stretched atop his study table. Using another rag, he made quick work of cleaning the weapons before reaching into the bag once again for the powder horn, packet of wadding, and pistol balls. Were anyone at Starecross to observe Mr. Segundus going about his work, they would surly have paused in wonder, for the deftness with which this small and seemingly timid man handled these large and ungainly weapons would have come as a shocking surprise.

In years past, as now, John Segundus much preferred time spent with his nose buried in a book, any book. Yet his father had been an avid hunter and young Segundus looked upon his father with a boy’s admiration, and there was in him a great will to please this long-striding giant of a man. The boy did not care for the wild baying of hounds on the hunt, and less so for the desperate flash of a rabbit or game bird flushed from its hiding spot. The noise of the weapon, the small crumpled bodies, and the smell of blood disturbed him greatly. Yet he pushed all this aside and instead presented his father with the most admiring and genuine of smiles. He knew that his father worried over his small and dark son. So when they took to the field with their weapons and eager dogs, it was one of the few times father and son inhabited the same world.

It had been some time, quite a long time in fact since he had primed a weapon; yet that did not mean that he did not remember to take care to leave no gap between the powder and ball, or to wipe away any stray gunpowder lest it cause a misfire. His movements were as swift and skilled as Mrs. Honeyfoot at her work. While he worked, he told himself he must keep his promise at all costs and find the compassion and courage to do what must be done in whatever form it may present itself. So it was that he trusted no one else with the task of preparing the pistols that would save John Childermass from an eternity of cruelty and torment.

  


  


Mr. Segundus stepped into Lady Pole’s room, the weight of the pistols as heavy on his conscience as the saddlebag thrown over his shoulder. Mrs. Honeyfoot greeted Segundus with eyes that were far too bright; her hands holding the little tongs glistened with blood.

“A pure and noble metal, sir! The other injuries are closed with silver and remain healthy! I have surmised the magic cannot pass that protection! If I can close the wound it may defeat the enchantment and the bleeding should cease!” Then without another word she returned to her work, selecting a link from the glass and setting it to the wound.

Childermass screamed, his body arching off the bed. Jacob threw himself across man’s legs in a desperate bid to keep him still, though more than once he was upset and nearly thrown to the floor. Mr. Honeyfoot did his best to hold Childermass’ shoulders steady; another link and another bellow of rage and pain. Childermass twisted and struggled, all sense and reason gone, now nothing more than a creature reacting to its suffering. Mr. Segundus was quite aghast at the sight. Then he noticed Vinculus slumped in the chair before the hearth. The man was horribly pale and seemed little more than a jumble of sharp limbs dressed in an array of tattered garments.

Vinculus cringed with each cry that echoed within the room. He looked up at Segundus with hollow eyes and gave a smirk before answering the unspoken question.

“There ain’t much left in me John Segundus, which is meaning there ain’t much left for the wards. You might have asked before you took, sir, and I’d have told you to bugger yourself, but at least I’d of had a say in the matter. Now you’ve stirred that sprite to a rabid froth and there’s no sign of John Uskglass, which I’ll remind you, I didn’t need no fancy cards to predict that fortune.”

He turned to look back at Mrs. Honeyfoot and the others. His shoulders hunched and twitched when another roar filled the air. “I told them it weren’t no use. The spell has made its home, and now there’ll be nothing but this…until there is not.” Vinculus gave a low cackle and rubbed at his arm. “I find it disturbing that the turn of events has left me the sane one in the room.”

Of a sudden, there was a cry and a thud and they both looked back to see Mrs. Honeyfoot upset upon the floor. In all his flailing, Childermass had caught her with a wild blow that had sent her reeling. Segundus rushed to help the woman to her feet. She put her hand to a cheek now red and livid.

“It is not the first time I have been struck by a patient Mr. Segundus.” She took a step toward the bed, yet Segundus held her back. “No madam, you must stop! It is too much!”

Mrs. Honeyfoot shook him off, her scowl thunderous. “Nonsense sir! You will not tell me my business. Magic or not, I will no longer sit idly by and watch this man bleed to death. Did you not entreat me but a short time ago to do all that I could? If you do not have the fortitude to see this through, sir, than I tell you now that you are no longer of any use to me. Jacob, you will return to your place!”

Jacob seemed uncertain, looking from Childermass to Mr. Segundus, yet at length he made to comply. “Aye, Madam.”

Segundus stood before them, blocking the way. His face was stiff with anger and deepest regret. “Step away from him, the lot of you! There will be no more of this! As Vinculus stated, the spell is too powerful to be overcome in this manner. If you continue on this course you will only hasten his death. I tell you all, hope still remains and we must look to another solution!”

Mrs. Honeyfoot rose to her full height, which amounted to the bun atop her head reaching just below Mr. Segundus nose. “And what then sir, do you propose as this hope?”

Four sets of eyes turned to regard Mr. Segundus, each marked with a different expression. All unalike save for one thing, in each face, the greatest wish that the solution to this tragedy was but a few well thought words away. How it tore at his heart when he realized, he had nothing to give them. Nothing beyond the admission of defeat, and the promise he had made to John Childermass. He swallowed, and searched for his voice. Yet it trembled and hid in his throat like a frightened thing.

“I - I…believe we must…”

It was at that moment that Agatha entered the room. Her face, clothes, and arms smudged and blackened with soot and ash.

Every word silenced upon the tongue and limbs stilled when each person to the last stopped to regard the disheveled woman.

“Dear Agatha! Whatever have you done to yourself?” Mrs. Honeyfoot exclaimed in alarm, being the first to recover from the shock of the sight.

The housekeeper paid her no mind but hurried to Mr. Segundus and held out her hand. “I’ve found it sir, a piece of it. I hope it is enough, please let it be enough.” Trembling, she opened her hand, fingers pink and raw from the coals. There in the center of her soot-blackened palm was a bloodied scrap of grey cloth no bigger than a ha’penny.


	7. Mud, thorns, and rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The faerie comes for its revenge, and Mr. Segundus fulfills a promise.
> 
> -The creature fair danced before the wall. The being had gone quite mad with its victory so close at hand. Childermass’ hat sat askance, while the wind and rain whipped the pale locks to and fro. Its eyes had grown large and luminous, like the eyes of a creature from the depths of some brackish pond. A pointed tongue darted forth to lick at thin lips.

The three magicians stood in the Starecross study looking down at the little scrap of fabric resting in the center of a china saucer painted with a scene of John Uskglass standing before the gate at Starecross Hall. Mr. Segundus did not remember seeing such a pattern amongst the Starecross china before, but at the moment such a thing was not a concern for there were a great many other things to occupy his mind. Specifically that Mr. Honeyfoot was in a doubting sort of mood and Mr. Segundus found it quite irksome and impolite.

“Yes, yes! But is it truly what she claims it to be, and not some manufactured hope of the mind?”

Mr. Honeyfoot raised the saucer to eye level and poked at the piece of cloth with a pair of small tongs he had liberated from his wife’s medical bag. Mr. Segundus felt more than a little cross that Mr. Honeyfoot would doubt Agatha’s sincerity and truthfulness, when the woman understood quite clearly what a lie would mean in these circumstances.

Mr. Segundus took back the saucer. “This is no fancy, sir! We must believe it is precisely what she claims it to be!”

Vinculus laughed, a near hysterical cackle that caused both men to pause and turn. “And what if it is? There is only one among us with a chance at casting such a spell, and he lies down the hall bleeding his life away.”

The house shook and a vase toppled onto its side. Mr. Honeyfoot dashed to the mantle in time to rescue the imperiled porcelain, while Vinculus turned the full measure of his frustration and anger upon Segundus. “And you, I warned you what such a plea would get us, and here we are with time growing shorter and no Raven King. Naught but a crazed faerie upon the road. You have stoked his rage, sir, and now John Childermass will suffer that toll!”

Segundus did not look away from the man’s fierce gaze but met it steady with his own.

“It was precisely for John Childermass that I took such a risk, and if any among us is to pay for that, it shall be me. Do not doubt that.”

Mr. Honeyfoot placed the vase upon the table and addressed Segundus. “You said, sir, that Childermass claimed the answer was in wild magic. A treacherous and capricious hope I daresay. For those inexperienced in such things, the emotional component of wild magic may well override the logic of a spell, and therein the danger of such an undertaking. The spell you cast earlier, it may seem that it had no outcome, yet we cannot be certain. There may well be some unforeseen consequences that shall manifest at a later and most unfortunate time.”

“I think we’d be hard-pressed to the last to recall a more unfortunate time, and I know a thing or two about misfortune.” Snapped Vinculus, before he left off and began scratching with fury at his arm.

Mr. Honeyfoot looked cross. “I was merely stating-”

“Gentlemen, please stop! Not a bit of this will help our situation, or Childermass.” From the corner of his eye Segundus saw a blossom of crimson upon Vinculus’ sleeve. 

“You are bleeding, sir!” Segundus grabbed a napkin from a tea tray and pressed it to Vinculus’ arm. “You must leave off your incessant scratching. Mrs. Honeyfoot must have something to ease your troubled nerves.”

Vinculus snatched away the cloth and dabbed at his arm. “The cure for my troubled nerves and anything else that might ail me will not be found in any foul smelling powder or slimy unguent but is bottled and arranged quite neatly in-”

Vinculus pulled the napkin away from his arm and went quite silent for a moment. Then he opened the bloodied cloth and stared. “By his glorious feathered balls…”

“What is it man?” Segundus stepped to the chair and looked down upon the unfolded napkin, on the other side he heard Mr. Honeyfoot gasp. The spots of blood were spreading and stretching and changing upon the fabric to something else entirely. Before their eyes, the red darkened to purple and then that too began to change to another hue all together. Creeping and writhing across the cloth was writing in the same color of blue as the ink that dyed Vinculus’ skin!

“Why it must be a spell” cried Mr. Segundus. “A spell from His book. A spell from the Raven King himself!”

“Well, what does it say?” Mr. Honeyfoot’s voice shook with excitement.

Vinculus squinted and peered closer, moving the cloth at angles here and there, at one point turning the whole thing upside down. “I don’t know…books cannot read themselves…”

Segundus plucked the napkin from Vinculus’ slack fingers. “Why, it seems to be a spell offering the-”

There was of a sudden, three great loud _BOOMS_ Each one following rapid on the heels of the other, as before, the air wavered and shimmered. Segundus heard Vinculus cry out as if he’d been struck. Through the waves of bending and shimmering air he saw the man topple from his chair. 

“Vinculus!”

The man answered, though he was but a few scant feet away his voice seemed to come from a great distance. “I am done. He has broken the wards.”

All around, Starecross was changing, transforming into something unlike itself, something wild. Mr. Segundus felt pattering upon his head and raised his eyes to the ceiling only to see naught but cloudy, moonless sky! Raindrops struck his face and the wind was chill about his neck. He heard Mr. Honeyfoot shout in alarm and turned to see the walls of Starecross changing and twisting, becoming tall and looming hedges of thornbriar.

Vinculus was on his knees choking and vomiting onto a carpet of grass. The table upon which the saucer sat began to shimmer and change. Mr. Segundus grabbed at the saucer and scooped up the precious scrap of fabric. Wrapping it in the napkin with the spell, he shoved the bundle into his coat pocket.

Shaking his head and rubbing at his eyes in an effort to clear his vision he stumbled to Vinculus and hauled the man to his feet. “Childermass! We must get to Childermass!” 

Vinculus groaned and fell to one knee, overcome by the violence of the magic that had destroyed his spell. His clawed hands dug into the turf while he retched until he could not catch a breath. Honeyfoot appeared at the man’s side; he pushed at Segundus, shoving him towards the door. “You must go sir! We will follow when we can!”

Segundus nodded and sprinted toward the door, his shoes sliding and finding little purchase in the slick carpet of greenery. Struggling his way through the brambles sprouting from the doorway, he heard Mr. Honeyfoot’s voice through the rain.

“Wild magic sir! Do not let your emotion go unfocused, or it may be your ruin!”

Free of the doorway and now in the hall, Mr. Segundus found a forest; trees, all great and dark, with large spreading boughs so thick not a drop of rain fell to the floor. He stumbled across gnarled roots rising from the earth while he wound his way between the trunks. To his left he saw the red and orange glow of the hearth fire rising from a great jumble of fallen stone. Passing near the ruined hearth Segundus felt something beneath his foot crack and a snap. He looked to the ground, and saw the broken shards of his favorite teacup beside a scattering of Mrs. Honeyfoot’s sugar cakes, one quite clearly left half-eaten.

Segundus reached down, his fingers catching up the largest piece of the crushed porcelain, blue lilacs and a small sparkle of gold shined in the firelight. The cup and saucer were one of only two items he taken from his parent’s home. A birthday gift to his mother, years later when she had been ill he had served her favorite tea in that cup, sweet with sugar and just a touch of cream. Saddened, he placed the shard in his pocket with the bundle of cloth and moved on.

It could not be that much farther to Lady Pole’s room, but the sudden appearance of trees in the hall quite threw off his sense of direction. He stopped for a moment to gather his bearings.

Mrs. Honeyfoot and Agatha! Mrs. Honeyfoot had taken the woman to the kitchen to clean and dress her burns. He prayed they remained there, safe as they could be, and had not returned to the room. It would be Jacob who remained with Childermass, a good man, but fierce at times. Segundus did not doubt he would do his utmost to protect Childermass should the faerie come, such a thought filled Segundus’ heart with deepest worry. All the ferocity in the land would not save the man from a faerie bent on revenge.

Clambering over a fallen log, Segundus moved on until he encountered the line of a briarthorn hedge. Ahead he saw candlelight, and through the heavy smell of tree and damp came the light scent of roses. Rushing forward he saw a great canopy of climbing rose arching over a doorway.

Mr. Segundus started through the passageway, struggling against the rose canes crowding his path until he stepped into what had once been, or perhaps still was, Lady Pole’s room. For a fire burned in a hearth topped by a ruined chimney, the mantle now overgrown with ivy and morning glory. The glow of candles in their sconces could be seen where they hung from thick walls of thornbriar; at spaces where the windows once were, there were open views shewing the road and fields beyond. Starecross, or some odd and twisted version of Starecross had turned and succumbed to the faerie’s magic in the absence of Vinculus’ protection.

Segundus searched the strange scene, yet the room was empty. Neither Childermass nor Jacob were to be seen. He rushed to the center, his feet sinking to the ankles into the thick wet layer of moss where fine flowered carpets had once lain. Stumps of old and ancient trees were glistening wet shapes where chairs and tables should be. Where the bed had stood, a grove of tall bracken fern reached nearly to his waist. Segundus waded into the wet mass of greenery, fearful of what he might find. The ferns were so thick he couldn’t see where he was stepping until his foot caught on something heavy and unmovable. He stumbled forward, falling headlong to the wet earth. Yet beneath his hands was not the solid form of the man he sought, but a scattered pile of twisted and wet bedding. Childermass, where was he? As gravely wounded, and affected by the faerie magic as he was, Segundus could not conceive of the man being able to move more than a few steps unaided. Had the fiend already spirited him off to another realm, leaving the rest of them here to wind their way through this continuing nightmare?

Then, amid the steady fall of rain Mr. Segundus thought he heard voices raised in conflict. He paused and listened. They came again on the other side of the briar wall. He rushed forward, peering through the hole in the looming hedge and out to the garden at the front of Starecross. There upon the lane he saw Childermass standing before the faerie! 

“Childermass!”

If either figure heard his call, they gave no indication. Childermass stood in the rain, tall and pale, nude save for the bandaging. His ragged hair hung about his shoulders and rain dripped into his eyes. Though in pain and weak from loss of blood, there was a familiar element of shrewdness in his expression. To all appearances it seemed the direness of his situation did not appear to vex him overmuch.

Mr. Segundus hand searched in his pocket and closed upon the precious wad of cloth. He had to get outside. Had to use the spell before the fiend disappeared into Faerie with his prize. Segundus tried to clamber through the open space, but the wicked plants bent and gave beneath his weight, drawing him in, snagging and trapping his limbs and tearing at his flesh. With a great cry of frustration he fell back, kicking and struggling until he was free.

He dashed about the room searching for a way to the lane. There was nothing, the briar walls were as solid as their true counterparts and the only way out was over the treacherous foliage. Of a sudden he noticed a glistening lump of dark leather settled against a stump, it took him a moment to realize what he was looking at. The saddlebag with the pistols! Cursing himself for the most treacherous of fools, he dropped to his knees before the bag and reached for the weapons. Opening his coat he tucked the first one inside an inner pocket, tearing the fabric until the weapon rested just so. The second, he tied with a long piece of cord, slinging it over his shoulder and tucking it inside his jacket to rest against his opposite hip. The pistols were heavy and clumsy, and they hurt where the one jostled his ribs and the other struck his hipbone with each stride, yet there was nothing to be done.

Returning to the ferns, he seized the pile of bedding and dragged it to the hedge. Then, with great and clumsy effort - for the blankets were soaked through and heavy as bags of grain - he began to pile them one at a time upon the ledge. Soon the waterlogged weight bore the branches down and Segundus could hear them groaning and snapping beneath the burden. After that it was no difficult task to clamber safely over the mound and leap down the other side into the Starecross garden.

Behind him he heard yelling and voices. Peering back inside he saw Mr. Honeyfoot and Vinculus battling their way through the thickening rose canes at the entrance to the room.

“Sirs! The creature has Childermass upon the lane. We must hurry!”

With that, Segundus rushed down the path toward the road. The moonlight was strange and treacherous, casting shadows in any manner of directions that left him confused and disorientated, tripping over roots and skinning his hands and knees upon cracked and jagged stone. Reaching the gate at the lane, Segundus cursed the briars twining around the rusting metal, holding it closed.

Childermass was speaking to the faerie. Segundus could not hear what was said over the wind and rain pattering incessantly upon the vegetation. Yet whatever the words, they stirred the creature to a rage, for Mr. Segundus heard the faerie’s response quite clearly.

“You insolent piece of mortal trash! You will pay for every offense you have visited upon my esteemed person. Every splinter of bone, every shred of your flesh will know deepest agony without end!”

As it spoke the creature seized Childermass and shook him to and fro so fiercely Mr. Segundus feared it would snap his neck. Childermass’ fingers dug at the hand about his throat, a weak effort with his depleted strength, and no match for his attacker. Overhead thunder crashed, while all around the thornbriar hedges seemed to grow, leaning toward the figures upon the road, thorns silver and wicked in the light reflected from the clouds.

It was but a short time before Childermass’ struggles faded and his hands fell from the fingers about his throat. His head lolled and a wet curtain of dark hair fell across his features.

“No!”

Mr. Segundus fought his way through the gate, kicking and shoving so ferociously that the briar could not hold against his attack. The faerie’s gaze slid to John Segundus, a bright and feral smile lit its features. 

“Oh ho! The brown little mouse emerges from the hedge.”

The colorless eyes burned with glee, the faerie’s hand fell from Childermass’ throat, leaving livid prints and bloody crescent marks where wicked nails had broken the skin. The man collapsed into the mud at the fiend’s feet.

The faerie paid Segundus no mind but knelt over the still form of Childermass and spoke in a language so strange, so discordant that Segundus likened it to vile and murderous thoughts given sound. Then, most horribly, from the gash on Childermass’ chest emerged a red and jagged miasma; it hovered for a moment in the faerie’s hand before the fingers snapped closed. Segundus could hear the clink and crackle of glass being ground to powder. When the faerie opened its palm there was naught but a glittering red pile. With a gesture of dismissal it scattered the remains of the spell upon the ground.

“I would not have such a distraction when I take his heart. He must feel each and every tear of flesh and snap of bone.”

The creature remained beside Childermass, the hem of its fine grey coat filthy with mud where it lay upon the road. For far too long there was nothing but the sound of wind and water. Then Segundus heard Childermass gasp and cough before he drew one desperate breath after another.

Mr. Segundus took the smallest step forward. With the fiend thus occupied with its helpless prize perhaps now was the time for the spell! His hand fumbled in his pocket, his fingers grasped the bundle ready to pull it free. A sudden pain slashed across his palm and he gasped in surprise loosening his grip. The shard of porcelain from the teacup had cut his hand most severely. He could feel blood pulsing from the cut, soaking his fingers and worse, staining the napkin! He pulled his hand from his pocket and pressed it to his breeches.

Childermass rolled onto his side, struggling to catch his breath and raise himself from the mud and wet of the road. Impatient, the creature seized the man and pulled him from the ground, dragging him to his feet with no great effort. He held Childermass against the wall while briar vines sprouted and grew from the cracks between the stones. Here Childermass could not help but cry out and curse when the wicked thorns first snagged and pierced his flesh.

The faerie looked back to Mr. Segundus and smiled. “Did I not tell you, I would place your cherished John Childermass upon this wall and take his heart?”

“You did,” replied Mr. Segundus. Inside the coat pocket, his hand closed about the jagged piece of porcelain and squeezed. A fresh hot gout of blood slid thick between his fingers.

“Did I not tell you the drunkard’s will could not match my own and that his spell would fail?”

“You did,” answered Segundus, watching Childermass struggle in the grip of the vines. Though even the smallest movement caused the thorns to slide deeper into his flesh, Childermass continued to fight until the thornbriar tightened about his arms and pinned him upon the stone, leaving his chest unguarded and vulnerable.

The faerie addressed Childermass. “Now tell me filth, how does it feel to once again be forsaken by your master?”

Somehow, Childermass managed the most eloquent and insolent of shrugs. “My King’s will is my own…and if you are speaking of Gilbert Norrell, as you know, a man cannot help his nature.”

Help his nature indeed! Mr. Segundus could have screamed at Childermass in that moment, for of all the foolishness, the man seemed to be goading the creature to greater fury!

The faerie spat upon the ground. “Your king’s _will_? It means nothing to me. You are forgotten! There is no will, no law here but what I chuse. And I say this is your fate!”

The faerie plucked Childermass’ knife from the wall.

Segundus released the jagged shard and took a step forward. “You will stop right there, sir! For there is one thing I remember with a certainty, you named me the death of John Childermass, and in that, I hold you to your word!”

The fiend paused and fixed Segundus with the most unpleasant of scowls. “And so I did….” The creature seemed to be considering its next course of action. It eyed Segundus with a flicker of uncertainty before it bowed, an extravagant gesture brimming with a palpable air of menace.

“Very well, end his life, now! Or I promise you sir; to the end of your days, the scent of his filthy gutter-born blood will fill your nostrils, and the snapping of his bones as I take his heart will evermore be in your footsteps! And all of it to the last shall be on your head little mouse. Now make your choice.”

The creature fair danced before the wall. The being had gone quite mad with its victory so close at hand. Childermass’ hat sat askance, while the wind and rain whipped the pale locks to and fro. Its eyes had grown large and luminous, like the eyes of a creature from the depths of some brackish pond. A pointed tongue darted forth to lick at thin lips.

Mr. Segundus swallowed and spoke. “You give me leave to end the life of John Childermass by which way I chuse?”

The faerie stomped with impatience. “Yes! Yes! Have I not said so? A hundred and a thousand times, yes!”

Mr. Segundus pulled a pistol from beneath his coat. The faerie hissed in irritation. “Why should you need such a foul contraption when I have provided such a perfectly serviceable item quite suited for the task?”

The faerie held out Childermass’ knife. Mr. Segundus eyed the weapon before taking it from the creature’s grasp. The leather wrapping the hilt was cold. Mr. Segundus raised the blade before his eyes, sickened by the sight of the dark crust of Childermass’ blood. For a time, Segundus seemed to waver, until finally.

“No” He whispered. “I cannot abide such a thing. It is a cruelty that I do not possess.” And with that he dropped the weapon into the puddle at his feet. The fiend’s eyes narrowed, yet there was naught to be done for Mr. Segundus spoke the truth. 

“You have made your choice brown mouse, now take his life.”

Mr. Segundus fumbled with the pistol, so very heavy in his hands. So final.

Childermass’ lips moved slightly. Segundus felt the smallest stir of familiar magic. The smells of mud, and blood, and wet were overcome by the comforting mix of pipe tobacco and forest loam. A feeling of warmth gathered in his bones.

Childermass spoke, his deep rasp overpowering the wind and rain. “For all you have done, and for what you will do, you have my thanks John Segundus.” Childermass gaze dropped to the pistol in Segundus’ shaking hand. “Now is the time, sir…two shots true.”

And so, Mr. Segundus did the only thing left to do.

He raised the pistol to John Childermass’ heart.


	8. All he dared

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final confrontation between the fiend from the North and Mr. Segundus. 
> 
> -Mr. Segundus screamed, a great loud cry bubbling black from within. It rolled across the countryside, and it was in that moment that each tree and blade of grass, each creature of the wild from timid to fierce knew what had come to pass. Some hid; others came together and whispered of what they knew, while a wicked few smiled in the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is for everyone who read this fic and suffered through cliffhangers, sent me wonderful and helpful comments, book marked my fic, or clicked a kudo my way. Thank you and Enjoy!

It took but a moment to end the man’s life, the flash of igniting gunpowder and the sharp crack of the pistol disappeared into the night before they even began. Childermass jerked once then sagged in the grip of the briar vines, his head falling back against the stone when the strength and life flew from his body. His eyes did not close but remained heavy lidded, lending a thoughtful expression to his still face. Over his heart, scattered bursts of black powder, and at the center a hole the size of a fat red pearl.

It was done.

Mr. Segundus let the weapon fall from his grip where it clattered upon the stones at the edge of the lane. He reached for the second pistol hanging at his side.

Behind him he heard Vinculus curse and shout his name. There was not a word from Mr. Honeyfoot, though that was no surprise to Segundus. He knew if he had turned to look at the pair he would see the kindly old scholar confused and shocked by what he had witnessed.

Segundus hand fell from the second gun. Childermass had instructed two shots, but Segundus found that he could not complete this grisly task. It was done, and it was enough. As it was, there would be little left of John Childermass’ heart, useless now to the fiend who stood in a shrieking, impotent rage. Segundus found the sound a fair melody to his ears.

“What have you done you wicked man? Now he is of no use, no use at all!” the fiend was quite beside itself with helpless rage. It stomped back and forth in the mud and water, and tore at the long tendrils of its ragged hair.

Then it went quiet and its eyes slid to Segundus. “It is no matter; I shall have my vengeance for the trespasses visited upon my esteemed person one way or another. If I cannot have his heart, than I will take yours little brown mouse. And the drunkard, why I will have his dirty scribbled hide. The last book of mortal magic will belong to me!” sharp teeth glistened. “And because of your selfishness I will not stop there. The fat pair will make a fine feast, and the weeping one, why she will spend the last of her days grinding the bones of her companions to dust!”

Mr. Segundus had heard quite enough, suffered, and suffered still more than enough when he thought of what had befallen the man he cherished above all others. He would not let harm find its way to the Honeyfoot’s, Agatha, Vinculus, and Jacob.

He would put a stop to this, one way or another.

Mr. Segundus raised the second pistol, suddenly finding he had a use for the weapon. “You shall do none of those things.”

The faerie laughed. “Here now, you know that device of man has no effect upon my kind!”

“Yes, and yet it does not matter.” Mr. Segundus pulled the trigger and the ball sped forth striking the creature straight through its wicked heart.

It did not gasp or fall, nor clutch at its chest and give a cry, but stood in silence staring across the lane at the man wielding the pistol.

“Two shots true,” whispered Mr. Segundus, and for an instant he thought he detected the odor of tobacco and forests amidst the acrid cloud of spent gunpowder.

The fiend seemed not the least affected. “So you have shot me you foolish man, for all the good it has done you. Which to say is no good at all. I will have each of you-”

The creature stopped talking and gave the smallest, slightest twitch, followed by a soft gasp. The look of confusion was swiftly replaced by anger. The fiend cursed and the rain suddenly fell harder, pounding down from the sky in great thick sheets.

Filthy sharp nails began to tear at the fabric of its vest and the fine silken shirt beneath. Childermass’ hat tumbled from the fair head. The creature tore at the hole above its heart, clawing and digging at the bloodless wound, trying with all its fury to reach the shot lodged within. In time the curses and screams of rage dwindled to piteous moans and snarling whimpers, for the fiend could not reach what it sought.

All the while Mr. Segundus watched with a cold eye. For something was building inside and he sensed that it was only the dam of his will that kept this force from surging forward. That it was right now; time to let it all go.

In. One. Careful. Spell.

He reached into his pocket and pulled forth the napkin; unfolding it as swiftly as his shaking hands could manage. Squinting in the odd light cast by the tainted sliver of moon he tried to read the lettering through the stains of blood from his cut hand.

“What is it that you have there? What are you doing?”

Segundus gave a smile that was more like a baring of teeth. “One spell to banish my enemy from my land.”

The faerie scoffed. “The equal to a child’s nursery rhyme and that is all the good it will do you.”

“From the book of John Uskglass,” finished Mr. Segundus.

The thin face took on a look of unease.

In the center of the unfolded fabric was the scrap of grey cloth, burnt by fire and stained with the fiend’s blood. Without knowing quite why, and yet with a perfect understanding, Mr. Segundus took the tiny scrap and placed it in his mouth, tucking it beneath his tongue. It tasted of salt and ash.

In that instant Segundus was there when Childermass, bleeding and outmatched, fled Faerie. He felt the stab of desperation and anger when the man realized he had no answer for the fiend at his back. He relived the moment Childermass made the decision to return to Starecross, and was near overwhelmed by the man’s worry and fear for the people beneath its roof. He stood with Vinculus, outside in the elements giving all he had to the wards yet knowing they would fail. Mr. Honeyfoot, pouring over his notes, searching for any scrap of an answer, and always, always believing in the good of magic. Mrs. Honeyfoot, determined to save the life of the man beneath her hands. Agatha, with her good heart and her desperation, clawing and digging through the ash and embers, and brave Jacob alive and fighting.

There, in the dark and the rain, Segundus began the spell, stringing the words together one after another. Water ran into his eyes and dripped off the end of his nose. The wind chilled his wet skin, raising goose bumps upon his flesh. He paid it all no mind. This was for the people he loved and cared for more than any others in this world, and most of all, it was for the man now lost.

And then, Mr. Segundus understood what Childermass meant when he spoke of wild magic, how it came as much from within as without. He understood Mr. Honeyfoot’s warning about the dangers of such magic and the emotion that could twist it to disastrous consequences, but he was not afraid. He was not afraid because within his bones, within his mind and his soul, he knew this magic to be right and true. He knew it was the answer, just as Childermass had said.

And he realized, so too did the faerie.

Gone were the thunderous and vile threats, replaced by gentle platitudes and expansive promises of bribery and reward beyond measure. Mr. Segundus had heard it all before, it did not tempt him then; it would not sway him now. He fixed the faerie with a stare cold enough to freeze immortal blood.

“You sad and pathetic creature! If you thought, for the smallest spark of a moment that I would let you have John Childermass; than it is your foolishness and stupidity that must surely be legendary throughout the twenty-four realms of Desolation, for I can think of little else to recommend you.”

The fiend howled in anger and despair but Mr. Segundus gave no quarter. “What you feel now within your breast is the magic of the Raven King, the magic of England, and for a year and a day you will find no relief. You will spend your long days in misery and regret; knowing that it was your pride and stupidity that brought this upon your head the very moment you chose to follow John Childermass to my threshold!”

The creature, having never been addressed this way in all of its two thousand years was beside itself in impotent frothing rage. Yet there was nothing it could do against the man who stood - far taller than it seemed he should - before it. So it employed little more than a roiling tantrum full of cries and threats pulled from the sky for all the good it would do.

“A year and a day is a measurement of mortals, it means as little to me as the life of an insect! When that time fades you will find me once again at your doorstep John Segundus and the horrors I will do unto you will be legendary throughout-”

Mr. Segundus stepped forward. “You have it wrong, for when the sun falls on that day, it is us who will be at your door bearing your ruin. You will pay for what you have done. Pay for the havoc you have wrought, and the life lost. Not once, but as you are so fond of saying, a thousand times over. Now, you will remove your foul and unwanted self from our presence and return from whence you came, for you are not now, nor ever will be, welcome here!”

Deep within, Mr. Segundus felt the pull of something taut. It was curious and disturbing, weak but insistent and not unlike the first feel of the waves against the ward. It was Faerie magic, not of the creature at his feet, but of the place itself. The fiend gave a great and furious roar echoing the thunder to the north. Far in the distance Mr. Segundus saw a glow within the trees, pale and shimmering, a door to Faerie!

The faerie rose to his feet in strange jerking movements, like the puppets Mr. Segundus saw at the street fairs. It took one slow and exaggerated step towards Segundus, then another. Mr. Segundus did not shrink but stood his ground, placing himself between Childermass and the fiend.

The creature trembled all over. Its hands clutched in fists, the tendons in its neck standing in stark relief on the pale flesh while it fought the pull of the spell. Until the merest stumble halted its progress. Its hand lashed out trying to catch Mr. Segundus and drag him into the night.

Finally, a terrible scream of misery and defeat came from its wide gasping mouth. Segundus watched while it was pulled backwards upon the road, faster and faster until it became a pale blur streaking along the dark ribbon of road leading north; then, a bright pulse of light and a final scream of fury rolled across the countryside.

With the departure of the faerie and its twisted and vile magic, Starecross was fast returning to itself. Stone was rising even as the briar fell away. Walls and windows glistened wet and solid in the softening rain. There was the gentle clack of roof tiles settling into place and the soft patter of rain upon slate. All around there came a long and gentle sigh while the land settled back to itself. The moon returned, shining true and gentle through failing clouds.

Mr. Segundus stood in the night rain staring north to the great black patch of forest. The magic fled his bones leaving him feeling weak and forlorn, thinking at best that he had achieved little more than a fragile and temporary victory. A year and a day, the best he could manage, and it was so very little time! He knew it was the magic that had given him the temerity to threaten the fiend. He desperately hoped when the time came, that same magic would be there to make good on his threats! All in all, he felt quite sick after his encounter, yet that was not the worst of it.

Upon the wall, Childermass remained ensnared. A thin dark line of scarlet washed by the rain trailed down his chest to stain the bandages about his ribs.

Segundus wiped his sleeve across his eyes. He understood with clarity that it was rage fueling his tears; the same as it was rage that gave him the strength to drive away the faerie. Childermass, how could he fail and leave them like this? Childermass, the one who knew secrets kept, and the truth behind lies told. For all of that, for all he knew and all he dared, it was not enough.

It should have been enough!

Mr. Segundus screamed, a great loud cry bubbling black from within. It rolled across the countryside, and it was in that moment that each tree and blade of grass, each creature of the wild from timid to fierce knew what had come to pass. Some hid; others came together and whispered of what they knew, while a wicked few smiled in the dark.

When he was done and he had no more breath, Mr. Segundus sank to the mud quite spent and ashamed. Behind him he heard the soft murmur of Mr. Honeyfoot and felt a hand gentle and reassuring upon his shoulder.

“What was done, was done by Childermass’ instruction, you must not take this upon yourself. Just as you must see there was victory in this loss. The fiend did not collect his prize, and that was because of your bravery and fortitude, sir!”

The hand tightened on Segundus’ shoulder before falling away. Mr. Honeyfoot bent to pick up Childermass’ hat where it had fallen upon the road. He tried to wipe the mud away and succeeded only in brushing it deeper into the aged wool. At length Honeyfoot gave up and placed the hat gently atop the wall. “Agatha will know what to do; she is a marvel at such things. They should be with him, the coat and the hat, there cannot be one without the other.”

It took some time for Mr. Segundus to find the will to rise, and when he finally did, he simply stood shaking in the rain.

At length Mr. Honeyfoot spoke. “It is time we brought him inside.”

“Aye,” whispered Vinculus, “what’s done is done, and we must get on however we may.”

The three turned at the clatter of heavy booted feet upon stone and saw Jacob. The man was covered all over with scratches and punctures, his clothes torn and ragged. He slid to a stop when he saw the body upon the wall.

“No. Oh, no…sirs, you must believe I tried to stay with him. Mr. Childermass knew when the wards dropped. He came awake and bid me help him rise. Then he ordered me to go, ‘for my own safety,’ he said. How could I do that and leave him to face that creature alone? I tried sirs! For all the good I did. One moment I was by Mr. Childermass’ side, and in the next I was trapped in the garden. The trees, wicked things, they wouldn’t let me pass. Now I should like nothing better than to take an axe to each one of them!”

The door to Starecross opened and light stretched down the walkway.

Mr. Segundus pushed at the distraught man. “Jacob, keep them back. They will not see this!”

“But Mrs. Honeyfoot, sir-”

“There is nothing to be done. You will do as I say!” Mr. Segundus’ order was rather more of a frightening snarl than any type of request, and poor Jacob made a nervous sort of bow before hurrying back to the house to intercept the two women. The indignant protests of Mrs. Honeyfoot and the crying of Agatha reached the men upon the lane.

Vinculus started toward the body of Childermass. “Let’s get to it then, putting it off will do no one any good.”

Segundus swiped at his eyes and nodded. Mr. Honeyfoot made a peculiar sort of noise, squinted and stepped closer to Vinculus. Then raised a shaking finger to point.

“Sir…Sir! upon your hat!” the strange and awed tone coming from the usually scholarly and mellow Honeyfoot pulled Segundus from his thoughts. He turned around to look at Vinculus’ hat.

His eyes widened.

Perceiving the alarmed looks upon the faces of his companions, Vinculus raised his hands to grab at whatever it might be that had appeared upon his head.

“Stop!” Segundus leapt forward; closing the gap in a frenzied instant he swatted Vinculus’ hands away. “Stop, sir! Do not touch it!”

“Touch what?” Screamed Vinculus, spinning about in a mad circle, knocking Segundus back.

“Be still you fool!” Mr. Honeyfoot clasped an arm, dragging the man to a stop. His old eyes wide with wonder. “You must be still.”

Vinculus did as bidden, though he shook all over like a carriage horse that had just had the fright of its life. Then, Mr. Segundus reached forward and oh-so-gently removed the ridiculous, odious cap from Vinculus’ ragged crown. He held it before him, shielding it as much as he could from the rain, while his companions crowded close.

Mr. Honeyfoot’s breath escaped his body in a sigh of pure delight and awe. Vinculus, suddenly coming to an understanding of what was before him, muttered by far what was the most creative and reverent of his curses. 

Mr. Segundus simply smiled. “How is it that I could have doubted you, sir?”

There, nestled in a grimy ancient crease in Vinculus’ hat was a blue and glowing ball the size of a large fat pearl, Childermass’ very life.

“ _Animam Evocare_!” Mr. Honeyfoot near giggled in glee.

Segundus breath stopped. The object was quite beautiful and appeared so terribly fragile he found he could not move for fear that it would suddenly disappear before his eyes. Upon first observation the orb seemed a solid blue but when he looked closer he saw that there were tendrils of silver roiling across the surface, their movement causing the orb to shift and pulse. The strands seemed to be growing and spreading, slowly overpowering the gentle blue. Mr. Segundus did not think it a good thing and dread began to grow in his heart. 

In the end it was dear Mr. Honeyfoot who broke the spell, thoughtful and gentle as always he stood beside Childermass’ body. “Should we not free him first? It is unseemly to leave him such.” 

Segundus came back to himself. “We have no time! Too much was lost in our grief, and my foolishness.” Panic spurred him to movement, for it was suddenly plain to see that the glow was not as bright and strong as it had been but a few breaths ago.

Pulling off his coat, Vinculus wiped the blood and black powder from about the wound, while Mr. Honeyfoot took the cap from Segundus.

“Hold out your hand, sir!” Then Honeyfoot tipped the cap just a bit this way, and just a bit that, and they all watched the orb roll down the crease and into Mr. Segundus’ cupped palm. Segundus froze with the pearl in his palm, and his hands hovering above Childermass’ still chest.

“What are you waiting for? You must do it now,” hissed Vinculus.

“Yes, yes…all right...” Mr. Segundus let the ball roll to the end of his fingers, and then with the gentlest nudge he placed the pearl of light upon the wound. There it rested, its glow fading while the three men waited, not even daring to take a breath.

Nothing happened.

“Perhaps it must find its way to his heart,” urged Mr. Honeyfoot. Segundus hesitated, if this was wrong….but what else was there to do? The orb was fast losing light, the silver tendrils smothering the blue. Segundus swallowed and placed his hand upon Childermass’ chest; beneath his fingers he felt cold still flesh. Gathering his breath and his courage, he pressed, ever so gently, with more care than in any task he had ever undertaken.

And all the while, quiet, so very quiet, a prayer to the Raven King.

There was a small and brief flare of blue light between his fingers and then a great wash of magic crackled through the air. When Mr. Segundus pulled his hand away, the orb was gone, so too the wound. Indeed, there was not the slightest scar to mark the tragedy.

They waited.

There was no great gasp of breath and animation of limbs, nor a wide and surprized gaze staring up at the three men. There seemed not even the barest stirring of breath, or the slightest rise of the man’s chest. Vinculus cursed and raised Childermass’ head. Cradling it in the crook of his arm, he held his hand beneath the man’s nostrils waiting to feel the exhalation of breath.

“I cannot tell!”

Unsure and frightened, Segundus pressed his ear to Childermass’ heart. At first he heard only the slowest and faintest of echoes, so weak he feared it was all imagined; but as he listened, the sound became stronger, the rush growing in strength and volume. Flesh was warming and he felt a tremor in the body under his hands. Then there came the most wondrous stir of life when beneath Mr. Segundus’ cheek, Childermass at long last drew a deep breath of air, and then another. Segundus pulled his ear away and looked up at the others his eyes bright with relief.

Segundus rushed to the murky pool into which he had dropped the knife and knelt to sweep his hands along the bottom of the puddle until they found what they sought. He rose, wiping the knife upon his coat, cleaning every last bit of blood and filth from the blade before he set to his task.

With skill and care he cut the briar vines from Childermass’ arms. While Mr. Honeyfoot and Vinculus held the man steady. Finally, the last of the thorns were pulled away and Childermass was free. Vinculus and Mr. Honeyfoot lowered him to the ground, where they leaned him with utmost gentleness against the stone.

Childermass’ half-lidded eyes closed for a time, and then opened. Blinking in the soft rainfall he looked about, somewhat surprized. He stared at each man in turn for some time, until finally.

“Gentlemen.”

Never before were any of the three so happy to hear that familiar deep rasp! Mr. Honeyfoot was the first to speak, his eyes wide and round as the moon. “Sir, your play was masterful! The contingencies and the forethought…” he sputtered in appreciation. “I hope he will forgive me this boldness, but this is magic to make your master proud!”

Childermass did not speak but his gaze shewed a measure of unease.

Mr. Segundus guessed, and quite rightly, that if Childermass had possessed the strength to speak at that moment, he would have told the kindly Mr. Honeyfoot straight that the most masterful contingency of all would have been to not take a pistol shot to the heart in a desperate bid to escape infinite torture from a crazed member of the fair folk. Nor to put his companions through the hellish circumstance of putting said pistol to his breast, pulling the trigger and then leaving them to wonder if this was in fact, the final end of John Childermass. Only to find out quite by happenstance that it was in fact, not. And how desperately sorry and ashamed he was after forcing them to endure such circumstances while placing their lives in deepest peril. And that he, John Childermass, was as wretched as a person could be and would endeavor to make amends by whatever means necessary for quite some time - though here perhaps Mr. Segundus did take some liberty in his interpretation of Childermass’ apparent discomfort.

As it was, Childermass eventually managed a bit of a tired nod and a hint of a smile.

Staining the stone above Childermass’ head was a great and horrible bloody patch. Horribly, at such close range the ball had gone clean through the man and struck stone. Childermass grunted in surprise when of a sudden Vinculus gave a cry and pulled him forward so that he might see his back. Hands skimmed across wet and bloodied flesh searching for any sign of the fatal injury.

“I am well Vinculus…it is all right.”

Vinculus looked as if he might strike the man while relief and worry waged a fearsome battle upon his face. Finally, he raised his bloodied hands and rose to his feet. “There is nothing about this night that is all right John Childermass, and may your king curse you with the pox for daring to say such a thing you thoughtless arse!”

Vinculus turned to the house and strode up the path where he met Mrs. Honeyfoot and Agatha. There he did his utmost to calm and reassure the two women, though he was scarce able to string more than a few words together by way of explanation. For it was all still quite too much, and he stated in a rather loud and pointed manner that he intended upon getting dead drunk and he dared anyone, including the Raven King himself to try and stop him.

At this time Mrs. Honeyfoot was having none of his nonsense and pushed past him, bustling down the walkway toward the men with all the impetus of a runaway cart, Agatha in tow.

“Mr. Honeyfoot, if you please.” Whispered Segundus, “there will be time for explanation later.”

“Yes, yes, of course! Oh dear.”

Mr. Honeyfoot clasped Childermass’ hand in his own. “It is so very good to have you back with us, sir. I know we have had our differences, and as like there shall be more in the future…I wish to say, sir, this does not matter, for I feel we are of a great and calamitous family!”

Before Childermass could gather breath to answer, Honeyfoot was away to calm his confused and angry wife. Being trapped in the kitchen by a wall of menacing thorns, while all around, the house undid itself, had put her in as foul a mood as a badger whose sett had been invaded by a parcel of unwanted relatives. She made it quite clear that she desired nothing more at the moment than to have her patient returned to her care! Understanding this, Mr. Honeyfoot deftly steered his wife off the path and to the side where his gentle words did much to quiet and reassure her.

Childermass sighed. “His kindness is not deserved.”

“And yet it is offered honestly all the same,” answered Segundus.

Childermass climbed to his feet unaided and stood near the wall, pale and bloody, ragged and spent. Alive. He looked to Mr. Segundus, dragged sopping hair from his eyes and gave the barest twitch of a nod. Segundus could not help but smile in relief when his arms closed about the man and there came the sudden weight of Childermass’ head upon his shoulder. A stir of warm breath and Segundus felt as much as heard Childermass’ soft mumble.

“The risks you took on my behalf. You…are a fool.”

Mr. Segundus did not pause, nor feel even the slightest bit of fear or shame, but instead replied in a voice pitched only to the man heavy in his arms.

“And yet you knew I would. And though it does cause me no end of vexation, it would seem to the last, sir, that I am your fool.”

A soft snort, perhaps of frustration, then Mr. Segundus went quite still when he felt the scrape of stubble followed by the briefest press of lips against his skin. For quite some time nothing in the world moved. Mr. Segundus was not even sure if he remembered to draw breath. There was naught but the weight upon his shoulder and the feel of life within the solid muscle and bone beneath his hands.

Mr. Segundus neither knew nor cared about the meaning of what had just transpired. It was in truth more than he had ever hoped, and he took it for the gift it was.

At length Childermass pulled away, breaking the spell. “How long?”

Mr. Segundus looked away and up the road to the dark north. “A year and a day.”

Childermass nodded. “More than I hoped, less than I wished.”

Segundus pushed such thoughts aside. “There will be time for reflection upon that later, sir. Now, we must get you inside and abed. I hope that there still is a bed, and tables, and chairs. The roof has returned, a good sign.” Childermass nodded and swallowed a groan. Segundus noted the man’s breath growing uneven and difficult, his skin chilled in the cold and wet night air. It was but a moment later Childermass’ injured leg gave way and he fell to the ground, landing heavily on one knee. Segundus reached the man, catching him before he toppled into the mud and water.

There was the clatter of boots upon stone and Segundus looked up to see Jacob. Bloodied and cut from his battle with the trees and briar, but well enough to offer a smile and his strength. The cook stood and stared at Childermass before he remembered his purpose. “Mr. Vinculus sent me. Let me help sir, you can’t manage alone.”

Childermass looked relieved at the sight of the cook. “You are well?”

Jacob gave a smile. “Aye sir, it’ll take more than some traitorous shrubbery to keep me down. But don’t worry after me; we must get you out of this and inside.” he gave a quick glance back and lowered his voice. “I don’t know how much longer we can hold off Mrs. Honeyfoot and Agatha.”

Childermass made to protest but left off. “Very well, I suppose this indignity is no less than I deserve. Thank you Jacob.”

“Of course, sir.” With great care Jacob gathered the man in his arms, and with Mr. Segundus help made it to his feet. It was no easy journey up the path, and by the time Jacob reached the threshold Childermass had succumbed to his pain and exhaustion and fainted dead away.

Mr. Segundus was about to follow the two men through the door when a backward glance revealed a forgotten item perched upon the wall, Childermass’ hat! He dashed down the walk, across the lane to the wall, and swooped up the hat; noting with a smile that the battered garment survived its ordeal with little more than a sloppy coating of mud. Segundus eyes slid unbidden to the stain stubbornly resisting the scour of rain. A feeling of unease took hold, Childermass was restored, but he was far from well. Misfortune might still find them on this night.

Light shone bright from Lady Pole’s room and he could hear voices; most clearly the loud sure tones of Mrs. Honeyfoot as she worked to set everything right with her patient. The dread fell away; tonight there was not one single force in all of England or Faerie that would take John Childermass from the people beneath the roof of Starecross Hall.

A feeling of warmth and reassurance filled Segundus’ body. Remembering the teacup shard, he pulled it from his pocket. It was a sharp and bloodied mess. He wiped it upon his jacket, rubbing it clean of blood then held the piece to the lantern light. To Mr. Segundus great surprise, the dark form of John Uskglass was gone! Painted with delicate precision was the figure of a small but determined man standing before the Starecross gate. His hands cupped before his body and upon his palm, a small glowing pearl of blue.


	9. Things left unsaid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the residents of Starecross endeavor to return to their lives. Mr. Honeyfoot loses another bottle of claret and Mrs. Honeyfoot wears a most thunderous frown. Agatha gets her reward and Jacob his revenge. Vinculus finds his worth and Mr. Segundus discovers there is still a great deal left unsaid. As for Childermass, well, he will always have a secret or two.
> 
> -At length Segundus spoke with quiet care. “Will you stay, and finish what was started? Work to return English magic to the land, to the people?”  
> Vinculus shrugged, a careless and rebellious gesture that shook his whole body. “When has the choice been mine?”  
> Segundus reply was thoughtful. “I think that you know, he has always given you a choice.”

The winds had toppled two of the weaker trees in the orchard. Mr. Segundus watched while Brewer, outfitted in a harness of Jacob’s devising, gave a great surge forward and tore the tree from the ground, roots and all. There was an immense measure of satisfaction upon Jacob’s face when he urged the horse on and there came the snapping and popping of timber. Though Mr. Segundus had done his best to explain that the trees had been compelled towards their violence upon his person, Jacob, it seemed, was not inclined to be forgiving. Tethering the horse, he picked up his ax.

“We’ll have some fine firewood from this lot once it’s cured, sir!”

Then there came the steady _thwack_ of Jacob’s ax exacting a most personal sort of vengeance. Mr. Segundus sighed and walked to Brewer. Over the past few days Segundus had learned that the beast seemed more inclined to look upon him favorably if he carried a few sugar cubes in his pockets. Brewer’s ears perked and he gave an interested snort before leaning down to nose at Mr. Segundus’ jacket. Determined to overcome his caution of the beast, Segundus forced the animal to endure a few pats and rubs before he presented his offering to the inquisitive nose.

“Do you miss the company of your master?” there came the steady crunch of sugar cubes between teeth. Segundus gave a gentle tug on the plain brown forelock. “You have plenty of work to occupy your mind.” He looked to the disaster of the grounds. “As do we all.” 

The simple act of putting order to chaos, and my was there disorder, was honest relief for their strained emotions and nerves. Vinculus, Segundus, and Jacob did what they could to return the Starecross grounds to some semblance of order; while inside, Mr. Honeyfoot saw to the fallen plaster and odds and ends about the interior.

There was some worry for the foundations of the very house itself, considering the old manor had borne a fair amount of the brunt of the fiend’s displeasure. Yet in the end, Jacob, who knew about these things pronounced the house a steady old thing and the foundations as square and solid as they could ever be found. The man took a measure of wicked pleasure in reminding the three magicians that the house was built by John Uskglass, who was not known for shoddy workmanship. Upon this news Mr. Segundus had breathed a sigh of relief, for there certainly was no money to pay a true mason and carpenter to right such serious damage.

Segundus looked to the sky, on this late autumn day the sun was not long on its path and the light was already growing weak. He left Jacob to exact his satisfaction, and Brewer to his foraging of dismal late-season grasses. Segundus walked to the wall and gathered his coat, glancing over he saw the side windows to Lady Pole’s room. Inside was the flicker of candlelight and the warm orange glow of fire in the hearth. Pulling on his coat Segundus sighed, hoping for the smallest word of good news when he stepped inside.

Two nights had passed and still Childermass had not awoken since he had fainted dead away when Jacob had brought him to the house. Mrs. Honeyfoot declared it no surprise considering the blood lost due to the gunshot and the spell. Regarding the strain resurrection might have upon her patient, the good woman had remained befuddled, for such things simply did not happen within the field of medicine. In the end, Mrs. Honeyfoot admitted she could not say one way or another if Childermass, already greatly weakened, _could_ recover from his ordeal.

At such time, each of the three magicians to the last had silently pondered the dangerous suggestion of a spell to restore some measure of health and vitality. Yet each stood by in silence. They had had their fill and more of magic and its capriciousness in these past hours, and not a one of them had the will to dare even the simplest or most helpful of spells. The risk was too great, should even the smallest element go awry it could easily extinguish what life remained. So they left John Childermass to rely upon his own strength and will, a gamble Mr. Segundus believed Childermass would not find disagreeable.

Childermass was never left alone, hour upon hour the residents of Starecross Hall remained at his side and saw to his care with the utmost attentiveness and hope. All of which prompted Vinculus to remark in a rather solemn manner quite out of character, “John Childermass may well make the journey to the Otherworld simply to escape our incessant presence.”

Entering the kitchen, Segundus found Mr. and Mrs. Honeyfoot and Agatha gathered before the hearth to enjoy a light dinner of stew and bread. Mr. Honeyfoot turned with a smile upon seeing Segundus.

“Come sir! Take a chair and a meal.”

Segundus shook his head. “I am all over sweat and grime and must remedy the situation before I may join such fair company.”

Agatha smiled. “It is all right sir, there is plenty in the pot for you, and Jacob, and Mr. Vinculus when you are inclined.”

Mrs. Honeyfoot frowned a bit, which was an exercise that did not sit well upon her face. “And see that the three of you are inclined, and soon, especially that scarecrow who has taken up residence in Mr. Childermass’ room. He must eat something!”

Segundus nodded. “Aye madam, I’ll see to him.” Segundus waited for a heartbeat, hoping there might be some news of Childermass, yet nothing came from the frustrated physician. At length it was Agatha who spoke, understanding Segundus’ need. “He has not awakened sir. I should have been out on the grounds shouting for the whole countryside to hear if he had.”

She poked at her bowl of stew. “He _will_ wake sir. He just needs more time is all. It’s not every day one comes back from the dead.” She hesitated yet again, casting a sidelong glance at Mrs. Honeyfoot before she spoke. “I think he is stronger today than he has been, and I believe he can hear me when I speak.” Her cheeks reddened. “At any rate sir. I know Mr. Childermass would not leave us and I have told him as much!”

 

 

Clean and comfortable, Segundus settled himself into the nearest chair. Vinculus stirred but as his habit gave neither greeting nor acknowledgement of Segundus’ presence. Instead he remained hunched in his chair, his eyes to the flames in the hearth. Though there was a quite comfortable and tidy room put aside for his use, Vinculus still preferred to spend his nights rolled in a pile of blankets before the hearth in Childermass’ room.

The man, of all of them, was still markedly ill at ease. Segundus found the absence of his swagger and sharp tongue disturbing. While going about his work upon the grounds he had thought and puzzled through what it might be that had Vinculus in such a mood aside from his worry over their injured leader. Certainly, these past few days could be counted harrowing in the extreme, yet Segundus knew there was more to it than that and he intended upon getting answers. It would require the sacrifice of yet another of Mr. Honeyfoot’s bottles of claret.

Segundus pulled from beneath his housecoat one such bottle and poured a hearty measure of the beverage into each glass. Setting the bottle upon the floor he offered a cup to Vinculus. There was a slight hesitation before the man’s spidery fingers closed around the cup though no drink was immediately taken. Segundus sat for a time taking simple pleasure from the warmth of the fire seeping into his bones and the cushion of the chair against his sore back after a day spent outdoors.

At length Segundus spoke with quiet care. “Will you stay, and finish what was started? Work to return English magic to the land, to the people?”

Vinculus shrugged, a careless and rebellious gesture that shook his whole body. “When has the choice been mine?”

Segundus reply was thoughtful. “I think that you know, he has always given you a choice.”

Vinculus made no reply but took a noisy mouthful of claret. When his eyes did find Mr. Segundus they were cold, his voice low and fierce. “I am still nothing but John Uskglass book. There is my value to the lot of you, the beginning and the end of me. Why, if I awoke tomorrow and my skin was clear of every last scribble, would I still have a place among you?”

Segundus’ smile was gentle and true. “There sir, is the question I hoped you would ask! You are a magician, a true and powerful one at that. You are our comrade, risking a great deal these past few days, not the least among them your sanity and your life. We do not see you the same as before sir, for you are not that man. The vagabond street magician in his yellow tent is gone; you have not been that creature for quite some time. It remains the great truth that you are the book of the Raven King, however, beyond that; there is very little the same about you.”

“When I was that street magician, that vagabond, I was at least my own man when I wished to be. When I am the book of the Raven King all of that is taken from me!”

Mr. Segundus’ voice grew stern, even cold. “In some ways, yes, that is the truth of it. And what if it is? Childermass can be counted the same to John Uskglass, his servant without question. Yet each one of us could still say with certainty that he remains his own man. Is it not time, sir, you left the dregs of self-pity and took up the mantle of the man we have come to admire and depend upon these past few days?”

Vinculus shrugged and slouched into his chair, turning his body from Segundus and toward the flames. Here Mr. Segundus grew cross.

“Come now, I suppose I shall have to amend that statement, for your manners may be as ill-hewn as the day I first met you. But I say again with utmost sincerity that your value as a friend has been proven to each of us beyond a doubt! It did not escape my notice and surely not Childermass’ that you could have taken Brewer and left Childermass to his death. You might have allowed the wards to fail, or left the spell to sputter. Yet you did none of these things, sir!” and here Mr. Segundus’ voice grew very soft, for the fear and wonder of that night were still fresh in his mind and heart. “It was you he chose to keep him safe while he was at his most vulnerable.”

Vinculus’ eyes went to his old hat laying at the edge of the hearthstones. The man sat a bit straighter in his chair. 

“Aye…well, maybe I like having food in my belly, a little coin in my pocket, and drink on the regular. Maybe I like seeing the look of disgust on the faces of fine gentlemen magicians when I parade before them. Maybe, I like most of all being a burr in the hide of John Childermass.”

Segundus shrugged. “We all take our pleasures where we can find them, sir.”

It was also a great truth that both men started quite badly - one spilling claret upon the hearth and the other very nearly jumping out of his skin - when an unexpected voice sounded from the bed.

“It would be…a pleasure of mine…if the two of you would cease speaking of my person in such a manner…I much prefer Agatha’s company.” The voice was rough and weak, the words clipped and slow, exhausted.

“Childermass!”

Segundus was up and out of his chair with Vinculus despite his earlier petulance straight on his heels. For some time the three men stared at one another, unwilling to speak their minds for fear of the emotion behind the words. It was all quite awkward and yet endearing. Finally, it was Childermass who broke first, for it could be said that the weight of these circumstances rested most heavily upon his shoulders and he felt it quite acutely.

“May I?” Childermass nodded toward the cup of claret Vinculus still clutched forgotten in his hand. Then he plucked the cup from Vinculus’ fingers and raised himself upon an elbow, took two slow sips then gave a bit of a cough before placing the cup back in the slack hands of its keeper. 

“Did I not tell you? He is awake!”

All three of the men looked to the doorway where Agatha, the Honeyfoot’s, and Jacob stood in a crowd. Agatha was first into the room, still in her apron with her sleeves rolled to her elbows and her hair piled atop her head in a messy bun, but with a face brighter than the autumn sun.

John Childermass was not a man easily surprised. Yet that was exactly the occurrence when Agatha leaned down and gave him a kiss upon his stubbled cheek. She looked about at those gathered, her face red as could be, and then back to the man upon the bed.

“I know it is improper to take such a liberty. I care not!” she drew a frustrated breath. Her bandaged hands clasped together. “These past days have been so very awful. And I will tell you this, don’t you ever do such a dangerous, frightful and-and foolish thing again, sir! I do not think our hearts could take it!”

“Here. Here.” Agreed Mr. Honeyfoot.

Mrs. Honeyfoot warbled a most enthusiastic consensus.

Jacob simply looked relieved. 

Childermass looked decidedly uneasy.

Never a man who sought attention or notice, he suddenly found himself the center of regard, for six sets of eyes were affixed upon his person. He swallowed and shifted in the bed, raising himself against the pillows at his back. A tired and heavy lidded gaze slipped from one figure to the next.

“To each of you, I offer my utmost apology, and my greatest appreciation. Please understand it was my last resort to lead the creature here…to endanger all of you.”

“Sir, you mistake our meaning. It was not for ourselves that we feared,” whispered Agatha, fussing with the blankets about Childermass’ shoulders, tugging them just so with efficiency that had become second nature.

“I don’t know, there were a few points where I did genuinely fear for my life,” offered Vinculus.

“Here. Here,” agreed Mr. Honeyfoot.

Childermass raised a brow but before he could acknowledge such a declaration Mr. Segundus stepped forward.

“That is enough,” Segundus’ voice was final on the matter. It was only Mr. Segundus who understood, who had felt the moment he placed the scrap of cloth under his tongue, the guilt and worry and desperation that had driven Childermass to such action. It certainly did not make what they had all suffered any easier, it could never do that. Yet Segundus would not see the man pay any more than he already had. 

“While I am hardly a physician, I will remind you all that Childermass has endured a great deal of misfortune these past days and needs rest more than querulous encounters with the lot of you. Now out you go!” Here Segundus deferred, “except for you of course Mrs. Honeyfoot.”

She nodded in turn. “Thank you sir and you are correct, Mr. Childermass needs his rest and we have all done quite enough for the day. I suggest we all take our ease.” 

Vinculus turned on his heel and sauntered towards the door, very much his old self when he called back. “There shall be a reckoning John Childermass.”

“There always is,” answered Childermass without the least bit of concern and more of a knowing smirk. 

Agatha was the last to turn away when she was stopped by a light grasp about her wrist. Childermass held her hand with great care before placing the gentlest kiss upon her bandaged palm. 

“I am sorry.”

“I know, sir. Just please…take more care when you are out.” There was worry behind her smile when he released her hand and she walked to the doorway in a soft rustle of skirts.

 

 

“It is rude to stare sir.”

Childermass’ voice was gruff upon waking from the deep slumber that had followed Mrs. Honeyfoot’s ministrations and laudanum tincture. He peered at Segundus from beneath heavy-lidded eyes. “Have I slept another day away?”

Segundus placed his cup and saucer on the night table. “Yes, it is rude, and no, you have slept but a few hours.”

Childermass gave a tired sigh and his hand came to rest upon the bandage circling his chest. Segundus continued to regard the man upon the bed before his hand plucked something from a pocket in his housecoat. Between his thumb and forefinger he held the pistol ball. “I dug it out of the wall, in case you were wondering.”

Childermass held out his palm. “I was not…but it is best that such a thing is not left about.”

He held it for a time, letting it roll here and there. Then, of a sudden he dropped the ball from his hand and onto the bed covers. “When I have recovered enough I shall see it destroyed.”

“Do you wish me to-”

“No! I shall see to it.” Childermass’ tone left no room for argument. Then, in a gentler tone after perceiving the look of alarm Segundus sent his way. “Wild magic sir, the item will not be so much destroyed as unmade.”

For some time Childermass endured a vigorous measure of scrutiny. At length, Segundus plucked the ball from the coverlet. Here Childermass had a strange request.

“If you would sir. Wrap it in a scrap of linen and seal it all over with wax.” Childermass motioned to a roll of bandaging upon a tray across the room. “Take a piece from there and use the wax from this candle. Its light is favorable.”

It was by this time that Segundus knew better than to ask the “why” of it and simply did as instructed, all the while enduring the watchful eye of John Childermass. When he was done he presented the small wad to Childermass for inspection. He noticed the man seemed a great deal more at ease when handling the object and there came the strong smell of pipe tobacco and forest when Childermass worked some sort of magic. Segundus drew in a deep and subtle breath of the welcome scent. At length Childermass nodded and returned the item to Segundus. 

“Keep it somewhere safe if you would, sir.” He gave a small crooked smile. “Safe from prying, and most of all safe from efficient and kind-hearted housekeepers until such time as I request it.”

Segundus smiled despite his puzzlement and he tucked the item into the breast pocket of his housecoat. He had so very many questions for the man! There would be time, and he mustn’t rush, though his curiosity burned and unease was still sharp and present.

Well, there was one question that begged voicing. One he could be sure would be forgiven for it was not so much a question as a precaution…

“Your resurrection…are you sure there are not any-”

“Irregularities?” finished Childermass, recalling Norrell’s confession regarding the reanimation of Lady Pole. “Aside from a measure of discomfort and exhaustion, I feel no different, and all appendages are accounted for.” 

Mr. Segundus felt an uninvited blush creep across his cheeks, which he endeavored to hide behind a cup of claret.

“There were no deals struck, no promises made?” It was now Segundus’ turn to endure Childermass’ eye.

Segundus hastened to swallow his mouthful of wine. “Absolutely not! I sent a message informing your master of your peril and requested aid. When you were…at the time of your restoration, I merely prayed that this whole scheme would work!”

Eager to change the subject, Segundus opened the bedside drawer and produced Childermass’ beloved Cards of Marseilles. “I have something you shall no doubt find much more pleasing. All is as it should be, sir. I cannot tell you how it has happened, but the deck is once again whole and your drawings restored!” Segundus placed the cards in Childermass’ palm, delighting in the look on the man’s face at being reunited with his most prized possession. He watched while Childermass shuffled through the deck, taking his time with each card as if bestowing a greeting. The openness and almost boyish delight glimmering in Childermass’ eyes while his hands skimmed across the rough paper caused Segundus’ breath to catch in his throat.

_You owe me peace and respect John Childermass, but I wish you would give me something more._

“Upon the road sir, what was it you said to the creature to enrage it so?”

Childermass looked up from his cards and an unmistakably wicked smile took his features for the fleetest of moments. “The truth.”

Mr. Segundus waited but Childermass said no more on the matter. Inwardly Segundus scowled, how like the man to be both truthful and cryptic in the economy of his answer! Segundus felt the pain in his heart fade, replaced by something just as familiar. He decided John Childermass could lie there and hear a word or two on his thoughts!

“Will you return to Faerie as soon as you are able and more than likely face that creature. Find your death at its hands, and all for what purpose, sir? Jonathan Strange and Gilbert Norrell? One a man of capricious will and another of astounding selfishness? You will forgive me, for I know you think them important, but neither is worth _your_ life.”

Childermass’ was not up to the difficulty of this topic and his voice was little more than an exhausted whisper, his words short and clipped. “I said that I have found them, I have not said what I shall do about it. If I were to return and attempt to free them, it would take more magic than I possess at this time. That fiend is formidable; it now has a taste for my blood and a sound reason for vengeance. I could not succeed alone. This I have discovered most painfully,” a tired twist of a smile. “It may be that Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell will remain where they are, perhaps it is the will of the Raven King, or maybe, it is simply the end of their story.”

Segundus did not protest this, but said instead. “Yet I think it is not the end of your story, sir.”

Childermass made a face. “Perhaps not, but it is my hope John Segundus that it is the end of this tale. I have found it far too painful.”

Segundus rumbled a noise of agreement; it had all been terribly harrowing and frightful! Why even thinking back on the events of the past few days caused his pulse to quicken and a sweat to dampen his palms. To think he had acted in such a bold fashion and made such threats!

To distract himself and his convalescing companion, he reached for the familiar book upon the bedside table. “Shall I read you a chapter? It is quite an adventure, interesting and timely even.”

Childermass’ reply was most definite. “No, you shall not.”

“I think I shall,” answered Segundus. “In your weakened state it is far too easy to tell what you are about, sir. Dark thoughts and schemes do occupy your mind; these things are not favorable to the healing process. I think distraction is in order.”

A snort sounded from the bed, yet as often the case, Childermass gave no voice to his thoughts one way or another. He lay still and at ease, eyes closed, the hand holding his cards resting upon his chest.

Segundus gathered his book and began to thumb through the pages. The slightly musty smell of the tome was comforting, as was the feel of the thick paper beneath his fingers. At length he found his lost place and began to read, his voice pleasant and clear, filling the room with as much comfort and warmth as the fire upon the grate. While he read, Mr. Segundus could not help but smile. Sometimes it happened that a man needn’t leave his hearth to find adventure. Sometimes a man was simply the innkeeper there to save the life of the knight masquerading as a clever, if insolent servant.


End file.
